


Go South, Get Warm

by LAStoryWriterAlex



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASOIAF history, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, GOT/ASOIAF Endgame (prediction at least), GOT/ASOIAF theories, Jon celebrates being alive again and sows his oats a little before meeting Dany, Mild Smut, Night King - Freeform, R plus L equals J, Slow Burn, Strange Dreams, combination of show and book canon backgrounds, eventual jonerys, guess we'll just have to wait and see, jonerys baby, my version of tying things all together, or not if GRRM ever releases WOW and DOS, predictions for season 8, runs a little parallel to season 7 canon, some crack theories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-01-25 05:06:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 118,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12523644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LAStoryWriterAlex/pseuds/LAStoryWriterAlex
Summary: An alternate route to Winterfell!After being resurrected, Jon Snow leaves for Oldtown to stay with the only person he can trust - Samwell Tarly. But after he receives a raven from his sister Sansa requesting help to take back their family home from the Boltons, Jon goes on a mission collecting allies in the South - the Tyrells of Highgarden, the Sand Snakes of Dorne, the portion of the ironborn fleet commanded by Yara Greyjoy...and of course, the queen across the sea, Daenerys Targaryen. Jon and Daenerys build a quick rapport and she soon makes him the Lord Commander of her armies. Together they face the Lannister, the Boltons, Euron Greyjoy...and finally, the Night King.Note: Main relationship of this fic is Jonerys and Dany comes into the story at chapter 8.





	1. Oldtown

It had been a long journey from Eastwatch but not at all unpleasant. Though this was only Jon’s second time on a ship and certainly the longest he’d ever been out to sea, he found he loved it. It was peaceful. It was quiet. There were no traitorous Night’s Watchmen here. No wights or White Walkers. It was just Jon and the sea. And Ghost. The direwolf didn’t seem overly fond of being on the ship. Here he couldn’t roam or hunt. He’d grown a little bit of a belly since they departed and Jon noticed it swung from side to side when Ghost trotted up and down the ship. He hadn’t yet decided if he found it endearing or felt guilty for it.  

As the ship neared the port in Oldtown though, Jon’s heart started to sink. He knew Sam would be waiting for him and he longed to see him again. But it would mean he’d have to leave the ship. Leave it’s safety. Leave the peace and quiet. It was silly though, Jon knew. He couldn’t spend his whole life out to sea.  _ Maybe he could though _ . Become a sailor, travel the world. Actually see all of it. 

Just as Jon had seriously started to consider the possibility, Ghost nudged his hand with his cold wet nose. Jon sighed. That was no life for the wolf. Before leaving Castle Black, Jon had considered letting Ghost free beyond the Wall, where he was meant to be. But as he grew closer to departing, Ghost grew unusually close to him, never leaving his side, as if the wolf knew his master’s intentions. So Jon had taken him along. He wasn’t sure how Ghost would like Oldtown. But at least he’d have more room to run than the ship. 

“Still cracks me up every time,” Jon heard a familiar voice approach. He turned to see Davos Seaworth smiling and shaking his head. 

“What does?” Jon asked. 

“This great direwolf. Just sitting on the bow of a ship, enjoying the seaspray.” Davos reached out to scratch Ghost behind the ears and the wolf leaned into his touch lazily. “I wonder if he’s the first ever direwolf to travel on a ship.”

Jon thought for a moment. Direwolves didn’t live south of the Wall. And no one north of the Wall typically had need for ships, save when Jon had let the free folk through Castle Black. Absentmindedly, he rubbed the scar above his heart through his tunic. Davos noticed.

“You’re still here,” the onion knight said quietly. Jon nodded but didn’t look at him. Ser Davos was the one who had asked the Lady Melisandre to bring him back from the dead, given him this new life. But he still wasn’t sure what kind of life he wanted it to be, now that he was free of his Night’s Watch vows. 

_ Get south _ .  _ Get warm _ . That had been his only plan. But Davos and Melisandre had come with him anyway. Davos because he didn’t have much else to do, aside from take the black, which, according to him, would have been a terrible idea as he was a self confessed coward. And Melisandre because she said she had business to take care of. What that business was, Jon didn’t know and didn’t want to ask. Though he owed her his life, the red witch scared the daylights out of him, beautiful as she was.

When they deboarded, Jon picked out Gilly and little Sam easily, waiting for them at the docks. Ghost recognized them too and charged, causing quite a stir amongst the rest of the crowd. But when Gilly bent down smiling, allowing Ghost to lick her face, the faces of terror turned to faces of utter confusion and curiosity. Along with being the first direwolf to ever travel by ship, Ghost was probably the only direwolf to ever step foot in Oldtown as well, at least not for thousands of years. 

“Where’s the maester in training?” Jon asked, giving Gilly a chaste, friendly hug. The two hadn’t spoken much since meeting but he was still very fond of her. She made Sam happy.

“He’s got work. He works all the time now. He spends half his time reading and half his time cleaning. Barely has time to eat or sleep.”

“Cleaning?” Jon asked puzzled. 

“All maester’s in training have to start somewhere,” Gilly shrugged. Davos and Melisandre joined them then, their bags in hand. 

“My lady, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you for what you’ve done,” Jon told her quietly. She smiled that wicked smile of hers. “Where will you go now?” he asked her quickly, hoping she wouldn’t suggest sleeping with him again. 

“I’ve got another ship to board in three days time. Bound for Slaver’s Bay.”

“Essos?” Davos asked her, surprised. “What business have you got all the way over there?” 

“It’s not my business. It’s yours,” she nodded to Jon. 

“Mine?” he choked. What was this? Something to do with his resurrection? He knew the red priests came from Asshai but didn’t know what that had to do with Slaver’s Bay. It was much further away than the Shadow Lands.

“I’ve heard whispers. But I can’t be sure until I see for myself. If the rumors are true, I believe there’s someone you’re going to need to meet.” 

“Who?” Davos asked before Jon could. Gilly simply looked between the three of them, confused. 

“We’ll talk on that later. Until we meet again, Jon Snow.” With a final nod to Jon and Davos, the red witch turned up her cloak hood and left. 

“Well that was odd,” Davos said finally to break the awkward silence the followed Melisandre’s departure. 

“I feel like it usually is when she’s involved. Shall we?” he asked Gilly, and the five of them made their way from the docks to the Citadel. 

 

“Sam told me he was going to take you to stay with his family in Horn Hill. Did you not go?” Jon asked Gilly once the settled at a table of a pub near her and Sam’s living quarters. Sam would be meeting them there shortly to sup with them and celebrate Jon’s arrival.

“No we decided not to. I think Sam was afraid to see his father again.” Jon simply nodded. From what little Sam had told him of his father, Jon could see no reason why Sam would ever want to meet the man again, especially not with Gilly and little Sam in tow.

“He’s gotten quite big, hasn’t he?” Jon nodded to the boy, continuing his attempts at small talk. Gilly and he didn’t have much in common other than Sam. Davos merely drank his ale and smiled on, probably glad just to be south again and away from the cold. 

“Would you like to hold him?” Gilly asked. But before Jon could politely decline, Gilly stood and settled little Sam in his lap. “He likes you,” she commented as little Sam smiled up at Jon. It had been a long time since he’d held a baby. Not since Rickon was born and only briefly as Lady Catelyn never liked Jon around for extended periods of time. 

But as Jon sat there with little Sam, he couldn’t help but feel a strange ache in his chest. He was released from his Night’s Watch vows now. He could do as he liked. Could marry. Could start a family. Jon shook his head. No longer being a man of the Night’s Watch didn’t mean he wasn’t still a bastard. Regretfully, he placed little Sam back in Gilly’s arms.

Mercifully before he had to make any more attempts at small talk, Jon saw a familiar face approach. “Sam,” he breathed as his friend pulled him into a tight, warm embrace. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see someone in my life.”

“Ser Davos, this is Samwell Tarly,” Jon introduced, breaking away from Sam. “Sam, this is Ser Davos Seaworth. The man I mentioned in the scroll I sent you.” Sam gave Davos an awkward handshake but couldn’t take his eyes off Jon. Something in his expression told Jon that Sam had unpleasant news.

“What is it?” he asked. Sam pursed his lips sadly and handed Jon a ravens scroll. It had a Stark seal on it. Who on earth could it be from?

_ Jon, I came to Castle Black in the hopes of finding you but Lord Commander Tollett has informed me you left for Oldtown days before I arrived. There are too many things I wish to tell you to put in a single ravens scroll but in short, I came here seeking refuge from the Boltons who have taken over Winterfell. Edd tells me I can stay here as long as I like and that the black brothers will protect me but this is not my home. Our home is Winterfell and we must retake it. Please come back. Your loving sister, Sansa. _

Jon read over the letter several times before passing it to Davos when he motioned for it. As Davos read - much more slowly than Jon - his forehead creased and his mouth pressed into a deep frown. “Retake Winterfell?” he asked Jon who clenched his eyes shut in frustration. He left The Wall because he was tired of fighting. And now the only family he had left in the world was asking him to return so that he could take up another fight. He shook his head.

“So what are we going to do?” Davos pressed. Jon took back the scroll and read it over yet again. In all honesty, he didn’t have an answer.


	2. Krakens

_ Sansa, I’ve arranged for a ship to take you from Eastwatch to Oldtown. You can come here with me or stay at Castle Black. I miss you dearly and wish nothing more than to see you again. But I cannot go back. I cannot fight this fight with you. There are many things I want to share with you as well, too numerous to put on paper. Edd can tell you some of it, I suppose, if you decide to stay. But I hope you consider coming here. Oldtown is beautiful; I know you would love it. Please please, at least, think about it. Your loving brother, Jon. _

It pained Jon to write the letter, mostly because he suspected it may fall on deaf ears. Sansa was always most antagonistic of all his siblings; he loved her yet never had the kind of closeness with her as he did Arya or Robb. And she wanted him to fight. Again. Fight for a home that wasn’t even his by rights. And Sansa, a woman, had little claim to the castle herself. Who would fight with them if he went back north?  _ No one _ , he thought.

 

Weeks went by and no reply from Sansa had come. Jon guessed she was angry with him and he couldn’t blame her. There was a small part of him that felt like he was running from his troubles and he knew he would have to return eventually. The army of the dead was still out there, just beyond The Wall, biding their time. They needed to be defeated, once and for all. But where there was an army strong enough to oppose them, Jon didn’t know. The Seven Kingdoms were barely being held together and the likelihood of the crown commanding all armies to march north was slim. 

But Jon didn’t want to think of any of that at the moment. Oldtown was growing on him quickly and the longer he stayed, the harder he knew it would be to leave. Each morning before his work at the Citadel began - a position he had obtained courtesy of Sam - Jon would take Ghost on a run around the city. The first few times they had done this, onlookers were terrified, quickly moving to get as far away from the mythical beast with red eyes as possible. Now however, Jon and Ghost would run through the city, along the stone bridges and the riverbank, as increasingly familiar faces would smile and wave. Anywhere they went now, people Jon had never even met seemed to know Ghost’s name. 

After being in Oldtown about two months, Sansa’s reply finally came, though it wasn’t really a reply, merely correspondence. She had decided to stay at Castle Black and wait for him, vowing to figure out a plan for taking back Winterfell so they could strike the moment he came back. Jon had to admit, he admired her determination and vaguely wondered what kind of plan she would devise. Sansa also mentioned her protector and sworn sword, a lady knight by the name of Brienne of Tarth. She detailed her escape from Winterfell and Ramsay Bolton’s clutches, apparently with help from none other than Theon Greyjoy. Jon clenched his fist as he read that part. Theon had betrayed Robb and burned innocent stable boys to make it look like Bran and Rickon were dead. Had it not been for Sam meeting Bran at The Wall, Jon might still believe his brothers as Theon’s victims. And lastly Sansa mentioned some Tully relative of hers making a stir in the Riverlands and that she may make a trip south to see him but if she did, would ultimately return to Castle Black to prepare for the fight in the north.

Jon thought for a long while on Sansa’s letter. What was he doing in Oldtown anyway? Sam was here of course. The two used their spare time to seek out texts in the library on the long night, children of the forest, dragonglass, the Wall. None of that felt like action though. Jon was always a man of action. But then the nightmares of that fateful day at Hardhome, or the night he was killed for being a traitor, would haunt him and leave him gasping awake in a cold sweat. He wanted to help Sansa. He wanted to go back home. But at the moment, it felt like a losing fight. Jon didn’t think he could return unless he somehow came with an army at his back. And how he could make that happen, Jon had no idea.

One evening Jon and Davos sat in their favorite pub, drinking and laughing with the pubmaster when a voice Jon hadn’t heard in years drifted back to him. No, it couldn’t be. His fist clenched and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Ghost stood too, a silent snarl between his teeth. Both followed the voice with Davos cautiously trailing behind. Then Jon saw him, sitting amongst what looked to be his crew, drinking and eating and talking with a woman Jon didn’t recognize. The crew slowly stopped eating and grew silent, eyes turning to Jon.

Theon looked up unsuspecting. “J-Jon,” he got out. But Jon was too fast for him. He had Theon ‘round the throat before any of his crew could draw their swords.

“I should kill you right now for what you’ve done to my family,” Jon spat. Theon’s crew and the woman who’d been seated next to him looked back and forth between the two men. Jon watched as Theon’s face shifted from one of surprise, to fear, to defeat and despair. 

“You should. I’d deserve it.” Theon’s lip trembled, his eyes filling with tears. He looked to the ground, refusing to meet Jon’s gaze. Reluctantly, Jon loosened his grip on the Iron Islander. 

“But I won’t. Because of what you did for my sister.” The rest of the ironborn sheathed their swords again and retook their seats, eyes though still wary of Jon and Ghost. Theon finally looked up.

“S-Sansa. Is she here?” Jon looked back to Davos who had a single eyebrow raised, unsure of what to do in the situation. Jon turned back to Theon and shook his head. 

 

“She sounds like quite a woman,” Theon’s sister Yara, told Jon after he finished explaining to the pair Sansa’s desire to take back their ancestral home from the Boltons. For some reason, Theon gave his sister a stern, disapproving look that Jon didn’t entirely understand but didn’t want to ask. “Foolish, it’s true. But brave,” Yara added.

“She needs an army,” Jon mentioned, hopping his comment sounded off the cuff but Yara was on to him.

“I admire your sister. I admire her wanting to take back Winterfell. I know she wouldn’t have to if it weren’t for my stupid little brother.” She and Jon looked to Theon who gulped his ale so he wouldn’t have to respond.

“None of the north would have needed to take back their homes if it weren’t for all of you,” Jon responded darkly but Yara wasn’t fazed.

“War is war. You take what you can when you can. But I won’t say I don’t sympathize with you. Euron having claimed the Salt Throne for himself and calling for our heads has been... an enlightening experience to say the least.” Jon nodded stiffly and drained his horn of ale. Yara continued. “But without the full support of the Iron Islands, there isn’t much we could do to help your sister against Ramsay Bolton.” At the name, Theon flinched, his eyes wide with fear. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to get revenge on that cunt for what he did to my brother. But the ironborn are a sea people. Our strength is in our ships. And even if we didn’t already have Euron to deal with, we’d be of little help fighting a battle on land.” 

Jon sighed and closed his eyes briefly. Ghost nudged his hand with his nose and Jon scratched behind his ears absentmindedly. He had known sitting down with the Greyjoys to ask for their help on behalf of Sansa was a longshot. But it still frustrated him to have it confirmed that they could be of no help.

“You brood almost as much as Theon,” Yara commented and Theon shot her a dark look but said nothing. It was clear who was the leader between the two. 

“You would too if you’d seen the things I’ve seen,” Jon replied.

“Is it true you let the wildlings south of The Wall?” Jon’s throat tightened and he couldn’t speak so he nodded. Yes, he had let the wildlings south of The Wall. It had been his last decision as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch before his brothers had killed him. “Why don’t you get these wildlings to fight with your sister? They listen to you, don’t they?”

“The free folk answer to themselves. And Winterfell isn’t their fight. Their fight’s still to come,” Jon added, his voice trailing off as he thought of the Night King raising his arms at Hardhome to raise the fallen dead. All their blue eyes staring back at him, the Night King staring back at him, as if in promise,  _ We’ll meet again, Jon Snow. _

“Is this all that silly talk about White Walkers and dead men?” Theon finally chimed in, thinking it a safe time to reenter the conversation. Jon glared at him.

“You can’t honestly believe all that,” Yara added, looking at Jon as if she thought he had more sense than that. “White Walkers are just a myth--”

“I’ve seen them,” Jon growled, his voice rough with the painful memories. “Why else do you think I’d risk everyone in the Seven Kingdoms hating me, risk my life, just to let the free folk south of The Wall.”

Theon must have caught something in his words because his brow furrowed and he asked, “How are you here? When last Sansa and I heard you were Lord Commander of Castle Black. Did you desert after letting the wildlings past?”

“He didn’t desert,” Davos defended, joining them. He had been gone an awfully long time Jon noted when he got up to get them another round. Vaguely he wondered if it had something to do with the bar wench who always had eyes for him but Jon didn’t feel like asking.

“I was released from my Night’s Watch vows,” Jon said simply but didn’t offer an explanation. Yara and Theon exchanged a look. 

“If what you say is true about this army of the dead,” Yara began. Jon’s eyes narrowed. “If what you say is true, wouldn’t The Wall be enough to stop them coming south?”

“The Wall hasn’t been properly manned in hundreds of years. There are little more than a hundred men at Castle Black and even less at Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower.”

“Fewer,” Davos grunted.

“What?” Jon asked. Davos shook his head. “The point is, there are probably about a hundred thousand in the army of the dead. And when they do decide to breach The Wall, there’ll be little in the way to stop them.”

“Perhaps not,” Yara said thoughtfully, almost to herself. Theon looked to his sister then, eyes a bit wider, more confident. He nodded in agreement, clearly understanding the direction her words were headed in.

“What d’you mean?” Davos asked. 

“It’s a bit of a long shot. But it would be a powerful ally if we can manage. For The Iron Islands. The North. And we were sailing to Slaver’s Bay to go meet with her anyway.”

“Slaver’s Bay?” Jon demanded. The Lady Melisandre had mentioned she was headed to Slaver’s Bay as well. That it was for Jon she was going to investigate some rumours she had heard. What in the world was happening in Slaver’s Bay?

“What’s in Slaver’s Bay?” Davos added.

“Daenerys Targaryen,” Yara said. “And apparently, her three dragons.”


	3. Scars

Jon had to admit, Yara’s plan was bold. But if it worked, it meant not only an army to take back Winterfell, but also three near fully grown dragons to fight the White Walkers and the army of the dead when the time came. Even still, as excited as he was about the prospect, Jon was wary. Dragons had been gone for over a century and a half. Could this Targaryen girl really have brought them back? Jon had to inwardly laugh at himself as he considered it. White Walkers had been gone for some eight thousand years and unlike dragons, whose real skulls used to decorate the Red Keep in King’s Landing, there were no remnants of them to offer up as proof to the realm that their threat was real and serious.

After their discussion and laying out of the plan - Yara would offer her fleet to the Targaryen queen in exchange for Daenerys’s help defeating Euron, and for helping take back Winterfell, Jon would declare the north for her, encouraging the other seven kingdoms to follow suit - Yara and Jon continued drinking and talking, well after Davos and Theon had left. There was something about Yara that reminded Jon of Ygritte and it both unsettled and intrigued him. 

Once they were good and thoroughly drunk, Yara had sat herself on Jon’s lap and placed her arms about his neck. Jon swallowed hard. He hadn’t been this close to a woman in a very long time. But Yara pinned him with such a piercing look, he couldn’t have objected to her if he wanted to. “Come on, handsome. You say you’re free of your Night’s Watch vows. Let’s go celebrate.” 

Clutching Yara’s hand like a shy child to his mother, Jon followed Yara back to her room above the pub. When she unlocked the door and pulled him inside, Jon again thought of Ygritte. She had been the only woman he had ever been with. The only woman he had ever loved. And just now the thought of having meaningless gratuitous sex with Yara didn’t feel as appealing an endeavor as it had seemed when they were drinking together downstairs.

But then her mouth was on his and her hands were unbuckling his belt and it was all Jon could do to keep his knees from folding and smacking the floor. He had forgotten what this felt like. What it felt like to desire someone, even if it was just physically. Yara unlaced his trousers and slipped a skilled hand inside. As she took hold of him, she backed him against the door and Jon was helpless to escape her. 

Yara stroked him back and forth and Jon had to break away from her lips because he could no longer concentrate on moving his while she touched him. It was just too much. His head flopped back and struck the door but he didn’t feel it, only Yara’s mouth on his neck and hand on his cock. His mind buzzed with vague protests as to why he shouldn’t be doing this but he was too drunk from both the ale and lust to resist.

Suddenly Yara let go of him and backed away. Jon watched as she stood a few feet from him, just out of his grasp, and stripped herself naked as her name day. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman Jon had ever seen but her boldness made up for it. He reached for her and placed his mouth on hers again, suddenly the hungry wolf he seldom let roam free. “Your turn,” Yara mumbled against him and raked her nails across his tunic but one of them scraped along the crescent shaped scar above his heart and Jon inhaled sharply. Though healed, the wounds from his death still pained him on occasion and the jolt sent his head spinning.

Yara didn’t seem to notice Jon’s distraction and gripped the bottom of his tunic and pulled it up and over his head. Once her eyes fell on Jon’s exposed chest however, it was her turn to gasp. They stood there staring at one another, Jon to Yara’s face, Yara to Jon’s torso. She swallowed. She wasn’t often at a loss for words but seeing Jon’s wounds seemed to have rendered her speechless.

As they stood there, unmoving, Jon suddenly felt exhausted. Not many people had seen him like this. Had seen exactly what letting the free folk south of The Wall had cost him. “Is this what you meant when you said you were released from your Night’s Watch vows?” she asked him quietly. He nodded and she looked up to meet his gaze. “How?”  _ How _ was a fair question. And in truth, Jon still didn’t know. Why had he been brought back? How had it happened? According to Davos, the Lady Melisandre had stripped him naked, washed his wounds, clipped his hair and tossed it into the fire, said some words Davos didn’t understand and then, just like that, Jon was back from the dead. But it didn’t make any sense.

“Red witch, from Asshai,” was all Jon could offer in way of explanation. Yara nodded as if this were enough to make her understand.

“Who?” she couldn’t help but ask. Jon gritted his teeth as he remembered Ser Alliser, Bowen Marsh...Olly… Absentmindedly, Yara reached up and traced the scar above Jon’s heart, her fingers light on his skin and trembling. No longer wanting to stand, feeling the weight of what happened to him come back in a deafening wave, Jon took a seat on Yara’s bed. Yara in turn wrapped a robe about her shoulders and sat next to him, though they didn’t touch.

“My brother’s in the Night’s Watch,” Jon told her quietly.

“Because you let the wildlings through?” she guessed. He nodded again.

“My steward...Olly,” Jon continued, not sure why he felt he had to explain this to her but there they were. “He told me one of the free folk I had let through had news of my uncle. A ranger who’d disappeared a few years before. But when I got outside, there was nothing but a sign that read ‘traitor’. I turned and that’s when the first knife went in.” Yara nodded, motionless. 

“When I had gone to Hardhome to talk to the free folk, try to convince them to come with us, get south of the wall, the Others attacked. I had never seen anything like it. Thousands and thousands of people. Gone. In an instant. As we rowed back to the ships Stannis Baratheon had lent us, the Night King stood on the dock. He raised his arms,” Jon raised his in demonstration. “And they all stood up. He was staring right at me. Like he knew me. Like he knew we would meet again. I close my eyes and all I can see are their blue eyes.” Jon finished and Yara’s mouth hung open slightly. She took in a deep, shuddering breath. “But when you’ve never seen it, you can’t feel the magnitude of that. We’ve tried so hard to convince everyone the threat is real but the only one to listen was Stannis and he’s dead.”

“I think if you show people this,” Yara began, motioning to Jon’s chest, “they’ll believe anything you have to tell them.” Jon simply nodded. The pair sat their for a long while, thinking, not moving. Finally Yara broke the silence again. “Come with us to Meereen. Meet this dragon queen in person. We won’t be able to explain the situation as well as you can.”

But Jon shook his head. “I need to be here. The maester’s don’t believe Sam about the Long Night so we’re left looking for information by ourselves. And we need to find out as much as we can about it so we can prepare”. Yara gave him a single, understanding nod.

“I’m sorry this happened to you Jon. You didn’t deserve it. You did the right thing, saving the wildlings. And if this Queen Daenerys helps us take back the Iron Islands from Euron, I promise we’ll do whatever we can to help you.”

 

Jon saw the Greyjoys off as they left for Volantis. Yara told him they would make a brief stop there for supplies and then make way for Meereen. Jon had written the dragon queen a letter explaining the situation and how she had an ally in the north if the north could count on her. Though Yara had insisted Jon mention his treasonous Night’s Watch brothers and his resurrection, he left that bit out. He had never met Daenerys before and didn’t want to overload her with too much unbelieveable information. White Walkers were enough to wrap one’s head around let alone someone coming back from the dead.

 

One afternoon when Jon was changing linens in one of the maester’s chambers, Sam came and found him a serious look on his face. Jon dropped the bed sheets, his back straightening at once. Had Sam uncovered some new piece of information about how to defeat the White Walkers? Had there been word from Yara?

“There’s someone here I think you’ll want to meet,” Sam told Jon cryptically. Jon followed his friend to the infectious ward of the Citadel where people from all over the Seven Kingdoms came with rare and odd diseases seeking cures. Sam stopped in front of a cell and gestured to a pile of protective clothing lying next to the door. Jon dressed as Sam took a key from his pocket. 

“Ser Jorah, it’s me Sam. And my friend, Jon Snow.”


	4. The Bear's Tales

Other than Shireen Baratheon, Jon had never seen another person with greyscale. And since her case had been cured when she was a baby, Shireen’s outbreak had been much less severe than Ser Jorah Mormont’s. His disease covered his entire arm, the skin black, hard and cracked, almost like patches of dry dirt. Though he wore protective clothing, Jon’s skin crawled at the sight. He couldn’t imagine the kind of pain Ser Jorah must have been in.

“Forgive me Ser Jorah for asking,” Jon started. “But aren’t you supposed to be in Essos in exile? Plenty of heelers across the Narrow Sea. Why come back here?”

“Technically I was pardoned by Robert Baratheon before he died,” Jorah explained. “But I came here to find a cure, at the request of my queen.”

“Your queen?” Sam asked curious. But oddly, Jon felt he knew which queen the disgraced knight was talking about.

“Daenerys Targaryen. Rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. If I can find a cure, it’s to her service I’ll return. Back to Meereen.” There she was again. The Targaryen girl. First Melisandre, then the Greyjoys, now Ser Jorah. It was almost like they were all signs. Jon hoped he was right.

“She might not be in Meereen for much longer,” Jon informed him and Sam nodded. Jorah looked between the two, an odd expression on his face. “Theon and Yara Greyjoy have sailed for Meereen to offer Daenerys their ships and service in exchange for helping defeat their uncle Euron, who’s claimed the Salt Throne of the Iron Islands. I sent word with them, asking for her help to take back Winterfell from the Boltons in exchange for northern support. We’re hoping with the Iron Islands and the North, more of the kingdoms will follow suit in backing her claim to the Iron Throne and unite the realm before winter comes.”

“Before winter comes?” Ser Jorah asked, catching Jon’s ominous tone. 

“The Long Night is coming. And a darkness comes with it. Sam and I have both seen the army of the dead.”

“White Walkers?” Ser Jorah questioned. “The creatures from nursery stories, with blue eyes, ride spiders big as hounds?”

“I’ve never seen them riding hounds,” Sam pitched in. “But I’ve seen them riding dead horses.”

“And their not nursery stories or myths,” Jon added, slightly irritated. “The Night King is real. The army of the dead is real. There are about a hundred thousand blue eyed soldiers coming for all of Westeros and if we’re not prepared, everyone in the world will die by winter’s end.” 

Ser Jorah took a moment to ponder this dark and fanciful sounding story. Jon almost couldn’t blame him. It sounded like nonsense. Years ago Jorah’s father, Lord Commander Mormont, had sent Alliser Thorne south with one of the walker’s severed hands to try to convince the king of the threat to the north. But the hand had apparently decayed long before Thorne had reached the capital. 

“Your father saw them too,” Jon told the exiled knight. “But no one would listen. And it ultimately is what led to him being killed.” Sam shot Jon a meaningful look and Jon knew why. Both he and Jeor Mormont had been Lord Commanders. Both had tried to do what they thought was best to protect people from the undead army. And ultimately, both had died for decisions they made, killed by their own brothers. The thought made Jon shudder.

“Well, I will tell you, the queen isn’t one for superstition, which, until you have proof, is exactly what she’ll see this as. She’s a practical woman. Bases her decisions on what she can see, what makes the most sense.”

“Having the north as a supporter would make sense to her, don’t you think?” Jon demanded, praying that this wasn’t a lost cause. The idea of the dragon queen coming to help them had been filling Jon with unbidden hope of late. He knew it was difficult to believe but could see no other alternative when it came to the north’s survival. 

“She’ll appreciate the support. And I’m sure she will help you take back Winterfell. But as far as this...army of the dead. I’m not sure.” Jorah paused, then seemed to get an idea. “I’m one of her most trusted advisors, however.” Both Jon and Sam exchanged another look and then let their eyes fall to Ser Jorah. “If you two can find me a cure so I can return to her, I’ll help plead your case.” 

 

_ Jon, thank you for everything you’ve done so far. I hope you’re right about this dragon queen. I know if we took back Winterfell, the Lannisters would set their sights north, so not having them on the Iron Throne would be a comfort. Next letter you write me, send it to Riverrun. I’m going to go meet with my uncle Brynden Tully. He’s taken the castle from the Freys but I’m unsure how long he can hold it. Perhaps Queen Daenerys can help him too? I may also make a trip to the Vale but I will write you again before then. Stay safe Jon. Your loving sister, Sansa. _

 

“What’s in the Vale?” Ser Jorah asked, after Jon had read him the letter from Sansa. It was the middle of the day and Jon had been the one to bring Ser Jorah his meal. He usually volunteered to take Jorah his meals so that they could sit and talk and strategize. Sam was hard at work looking through old maester’s books, trying to find anything he could on greyscale. Jon hoped it would be soon. Jorah’s arm seemed to get worse by the day.

“Her cousin. Lady Catelyn Stark’s nephew, Robin Arryn.”

“The North, the Iron Islands, the Vale, and the Riverlands. That’s the entire northern half of the kingdom. If your sister can pull of making the Arryns and Tullys allies to Daenerys, the Lannisters won’t have much of a kingdom left to rule,” Jorah said impressed. Jon nodded. It was what he was hoping for. At the same time though, Jon was still wary of the Targaryen queen. She may be powerful, but power in the wrong hands wasn’t what they needed. He didn’t want another Joffrey sitting on the Iron Throne.

“And you trust her? Daenerys?” Jon asked, voicing his concern. For some reason, though Jon knew Jorah had been exiled by his father, he had begun to trust the knight. Jorah was a northerner after all. “You think she would make a good ruler here in Westeros?” Jorah smiled and nodded.

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard the stories.”

“Just whispers. And they usually only have to do with her dragons,” Jon confessed.

“Well, she’s more than just the dragon queen. Do you know why Daenerys is in Slaver’s Bay?” Jorah asked. Jon shook his head. “We went to Astapor first. We had dragons. She had a small kalasar of Dothraki followers who had stayed with her since Khal Drogo’s death and the birth of her dragons --”

“Khal Drogo, the husband her brother had traded her to for his army?” Jon clarified. Jorah had told him that part of the story. But not what happened after her husband died. Jorah nodded.

“Astapor had the Unsullied army. Slave army. Daenerys offered to purchase them all, the untrained men as well, in exchange for one of her dragons.” Jon inhaled sharply. There were only three dragons left in all the world and they belonged to Daenerys. He couldn’t imagine parting with them for simply an army of slaves. Jorah laughed. “That was my reaction as well. But she had a plan. As soon as the exchange was made, the queen commanded her Unsullied to kill every master in Astapor, and free every slave. She had Drogon, her dragon, burn the slave master Kraznys, whom she had made the deal with. And we left Astapor with an army of free men. She told them they could leave and return to the homes they had had before they were slaves. But they all chose to stay and fight for her.”

Jon only now noticed his mouth had been hanging open. He closed it quickly. Tricking and killing slave masters. Freeing slaves in a part of the world she had no business being in in the first place. Jon was starting to get a better feeling about the dragon queen but would save his real judgement for when he met her in person.

“From there, we traveled to Yunkai and then Meereen, freeing the slaves in both cities. We were joined by the sellsword army, the Second Sons, who believed in her cause as well. And last I saw of her, she was leaving Vaes Dothrak with the entire Dothraki army following her.”

“She’s not in Meereen?” Jon asked. Meereen was where Yara and Theon were headed. If she wasn’t there to receive them, how would they be able to offer her their alliances?

“She’s on her way back with the Dothraki. She had been captured and taken back to their sacred city to join the Dosh Khaleen - former wives of dead khals. It just so happened every individual khalasar was in the city at the same time. All the khals were trying to determine whether or not she should be punished for going out into the world after Drogo’s death. But she ended up killing them all. Dothraki follow only strength. And someone strong and enough to kill the khal of every khalasar was someone they knew they could follow. It had been prophesied that one day a great leader,  _ The Stallion Who Mounts the World, _ would unite all of the Dothraki and conquer the world. And they believe it to be her. ”

“How many in the Dothraki army?” Jon asked. It was the only thing he could think to say at the time.  _ They only follow strength _ . She certainly sounded strong. All this from a girl who had been living in exile her entire life, running from King Robert’s assassins, and who had basically been sold like some slave, by her brother to be the wife of some savage. Jon almost couldn’t believe it. But then again, he had come back from the dead. There was little now Jon thought truly impossible.

“About a hundred thousand,” Jorah said of the Dothraki who followed Daenerys. Jon gaped at him. “Do you think that will be enough to fight this army of dead men of yours?”

“Aye,” Jon got out, still astonished. “I think it might be.”

 

Jon and Sam were in the library when the whispers started. Everyone at the Citadel seemed to be talking about it. Jon looked up at Sam, confused. What had happened? Sam turned to a fellow maester in training to ask what all the fuss was about. The man turned to him excited and horrified.

“Haven’t you heard? The Great Sept of Baelor in King’s Landing has been destroyed. They’re saying it was wildfire. Queen Margaery, her brother Ser Loras Tyrell, and their father were there when it happened. All of House Tyrell is dead. King Tommen is dead as well. They say it was Cersei Lannister herself who blew it up. And she’s just been named Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”


	5. The Queen of Thorns

_ Sansa, I haven’t heard from you since you left for the Riverlands. I hope you are well. No word from Essos as of yet. As soon as I know something, I will tell you. Send along your next correspondence to Highgarden. Lady Olenna Tyrell has agreed to meet with me after what Cersei Lannister did to her family. I hope this works. Please let me know you are all right. Stay safe. Your loving brother, Jon. _

 

Jon had thought Oldtown was the most beautiful place he had ever been to. But upon his and Davos’ arrival at Highgarden, Jon merely realized he just hadn’t seen much of the world at all. Highgarden was a grand castle. It was all white stone walls, rose and ivy trellises, fountains and pools, a well maintained hedge maze, colorful stained glass windows of the castle sept, and the famous godswood home to the three weirwoods that formed what was known as the Three Sisters. Jon wasn’t sure which way to turn as the Tyrell guards escorted them through. Ghost seemed excited as well and it was all the direwolf could do to keep up with them as he wanted to stop and sniff everything. So many new things to see. So many new smells. Jon couldn’t wait to see what the inside of the castle looked like. But instead of escorting him inside, the Tyrell guards took him and Davos to a private garden where Lady Olenna sat waiting for them.

“Take Jon Snow’s and his companion’s belongings up to the guest quarters. That will be all,” the Queen of Thorns told her household staff. Sam had warned him of this woman and how she had definitely earned her nickname. Jon wondered what approach he would need to take in order to get her on his side.

“So, Jon Snow. Lord Eddard Stark’s bastard.” Jon nodded, wishing he had a different identifier. “And your friend?” she indicated Ser Davos.

“Ser Davos Seaworth, my lady,” Jon introduced and Davos gave a little bow. 

“Didn’t you used to serve Stannis Baratheon?” Lady Olenna asked, not missing a beat. Jon prayed he could keep up with her. Just from this quick exchange he could tell she was not someone to trifle with. 

“I did my lady. But Stannis is dead,” Davos explained simply. Lady Olenna smirked, seemingly satisfied with his answer. She nodded to the two seats across from hers and Jon and Davos sat, Ghost sitting on his haunches next to Jon. “I’ve never seen a direwolf before. What’s his name?” she asked.

“Ghost,” Jon answered, giving the wolf a scratch behind the ears. 

“Ghost,” Lady Olenna mused. “How appropriate.”

“Lady Olenna, let me begin by saying how very sorry we are for your loss. I know what it’s like to lose ones you love at the hands of the Lannisters. Ser Davos as well,” Jon got out before she could sidetrack him. Davos had helped him prepare and practice his speech to her all the way from Oldtown. Jon only hoped she would be receptive though he knew she was still in mourning.

“We both know sympathies don’t bring people we love back, Jon Snow,” Olenna told him.  _ The Queen of Thorns indeed _ . “So why don’t you tell me exactly why you’re here.” Jon had to admit, he admired her no nonsense approach. He always tried to do the same. So, Jon helped himself to the carafe of wine in front of him, poured himself a large glass, and began.

 

“My word. Your sister?” Olenna confirmed. Jon nodded. “When she was at court in King’s Landing, I thought her just a simple girl who wanted to marry some handsome lord and be done with it. But rallying forces against the Boltons? Against the Lannisters? She’s much more clever than I ever gave her credit for.” Jon smiled with pride and Olenna’s words made him miss Sansa even more. Had he only stayed at Castle Black a few more days, he would have been able to see her again. His only family left in the world, that he knew for sure of. He hoped it wouldn’t be long before they were reunited.

“You think she’ll be able to get them to come to her aid?” Olenna asked, correctly touching on one of the many variables in the plan.

“I don’t know the Arryns. Or the Tullys. But they’re Sansa’s family. If anyone can rally them together, she can,” Jon told Olenna confidently. The old woman thought for a moment, absentmindedly picking at a slice of cheese sitting in front of her. He wondered what she was thinking.

“You’ve never met this Targaryen Queen, is that correct Jon Snow?” Olenna asked. Jon and Davos exchanged nervous looks. On the surface, it seemed mad that he was reaching out on behalf of a woman he had never met before. But after Melisandre, the Greyjoys, and Ser Jorah, Jon’s instincts told him she was someone he could trust.

“I have not.”

“And aside from the correspondence you sent along with the Greyjoy siblings, you’ve never communicated with her at all?” Jon shook his head. “Tell me why then, are you working so hard to help her retake the Iron Throne when you have no reassurances from this woman that she will help you.” 

“Because my lady,” Davos started before Jon could explain. Jon breathed a sigh of relief. Davos talking for a bit would give him time to regather his thoughts. “Winter is here. If Cersei Lannister stays in power, the realm will remain divided. And if the realm is divided, I’m afraid we have no hope of surviving this winter, and the darkness that’s coming with it.” 

Lady Olenna narrowed her eyes at Davos’s words. Here in sunny and warm Highgarden, Jon could see how the threat of winter would seem like a myth in and of itself. The actual myth of White Walkers and an army of dead men being real must have sounded like downright nonsense to her. 

“You’re Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, are you not Jon Snow?”

“Not anymore, my lady,” Jon swallowed.

“You deserted,” Olenna accused. 

“I didn’t desert. I was...released from my Night’s Watch vows. But I still want to help in any way I can to prepare Westeros for what’s coming. I know it sounds like some frightening children’s tale. But please believe me, I’ve seen the army of the dead and I’ve seen the Night King. And I know that our best chance is to band together if want defeat them. It’s why, when I  _ was _ Lord Commander, I let the free folk south of The Wall. So they could take refuge behind it, as we have. Even still, I don’t think the dead will stay north of The Wall for much longer. We need to unite the realm so we can send all fighting forces north to defend us.”

“Oh, so that’s your real motive, is it?” Olenna questioned. “You want the Reach to send its troops north. Leave us all unprotected when winter really does settle in?”

“My lady,” Davos began in attempt to defend Jon’s words but Olenna raised a hand, hearing none of it.

“Jon Snow, you are not an official representative of this Targaryen girl. You are not a lord, you don’t even have a real surname. You are a bastard boy of an extinct house and an oathbreaker for leaving the Night’s Watch. I don’t care what you say about being... _ released _ from your vows. I know Night’s Watchmen swear to serve for life. And I know you’ve got some silly notion in your head about making a name for yourself, rising to glory, helping this dragon queen so she might legitimize you when she takes the throne. I just lost my son, my grandson and my granddaughter. And you come here with some ridiculous made up story about White Walkers and army of dead men. No. The dead do not come back, Jon Snow and I’ll hear no more of it. You and your companion and your wolf can stay here and rest from your journey. But once you are rested, I want you to leave Highgarden and go back to wherever it is you came from. Good day.” With that, Lady Olenna took her leave of the garden, with Jon and Davos left staring at each other, completely at a loss. 

“Well, that could have gone better,” Davos said. Jon sighed.  _ Great, what would they do now? _

 

Davos and Jon had talked late into the night about what they might do or say to Olenna that might change her mind. The one thing they kept coming back to was perhaps she might have a desire to seek vengeance on Cersei for what she did to the Tyrells. But even still. One house against an entire kingdom was not odds Jon thought Olenna would like. No other houses had yet officially risen up against the crown. The North was still held by the Boltons. And as far as Jon knew, the Targaryen Queen was still in Meereen. Right now, their fight looked hopeless.

But then Yara’s words from the pub came back to him. It was a long shot. Olenna might not even agree to see him. But he had to try. 

“This is madness,” Davos commented as Jon left the guest chambers to speak with the Lady of the Reach. 

“Madness is all we have, Davos,” Jon replied.

 

Waiting outside her solar while Olenna’s guards informed her of his presence, Jon again thought of Daenerys and how similar he imagined them to be. She was sold to the Dothraki around the same time he joined the Night’s Watch. Back then, both of them were nothing. They had nothing. But through their own personal trials and horrors, they had risen up in the world. Jon to Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Daenerys to Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea and Queen of Meereen. Jon had been resurrected by the Lady Melisandre. And according to Ser Jorah, Daenerys couldn’t be harmed by fire. Ser Davos had told Jon after his resurrection, that Melisandre had called him  _ The Prince that Was Promised. _ Now he wondered if Melisandre had traveled to Meereen because she thought Daenerys had something to do with that prophecy as well.

But before Jon could think any more on the queen across the sea, Olenna’s guards opened the door to her solar and motioned for him to enter. The Lady of the Reach sat at a small dining table near the back of the room and Jon noticed she held a ravens scroll in her hand, a queer look on her face as she regarded him. “No Ghost?” Olenna commented, motioning for him to join her. Jon shook his head.

“He was asleep.”

“So was I,” she informed him, though Jon noted her tone was much more pleasant than it had been that afternoon when they first spoke. “Tell me Jon Snow, why have you awoken this old woman in the dead of night? I thought I made myself perfect clear in the garden that I didn’t want to hear anymore about your wet nurse tales of walking dead men.” But at her harsh words, Jon was ready. 

“I haven’t come to talk about the army of the dead,” Jon said honestly. At this, Olenna raised a suspicious eyebrow. “You accused me of being a deserter of the Night’s Watch. Most people, when they meet me now, believe that to be true. But I promise you, it’s not. And I can prove it.” Olenna’s other eyebrow shot up to join the first and she steepled her fingers together under her chin, seemingly intrigued.

“Well go on then, Jon Snow. How is it that you are no longer a man of the Night’s Watch?” 

Without saying a word, Jon stood again and began unbuckling his leathers.

“My word Snow, if you wanted to seduce me into granting you my support, the least you could do is give me fair warning first,” the Queen of Thorns admonished. But Jon just shook his head, thinking of Yara.  _ If you show people this, they’ll believe anything you have to tell them. _ When he was down to only his tunic covering his chest, Jon finally spoke.

“You were right, earlier. When you said Night’s Watchmen serve for life. The only reason I’m here now, is because I got off on that technicality.” Olenna gave him a questioning look but he simply pulled his tunic over his head in answer.

“ _ Oh my _ ,” was all Lady Olenna could get out, her hand moving to cover her mouth in shock. She then got to her feet, legs a bit shaky, and moved toward Jon, eyes never leaving the jagged scars that marred his body. Just as Yara had, Olenna wordlessly traced soft wrinkled fingers along the wound over his heart. Jon couldn’t remember when he’d had so many different women touch him in such a short period of time. “ _ Technicality  _ indeed,” Olenna breathed.

“My brothers in the Night’s Watch did this after I let the free folk through. They thought me a traitor.” Jon paused a moment. “What you said earlier. About how the dead do not come back…” Olenna finally stepped back from him and met his gaze, her eyes glassy and confused. He guessed it was an expression she didn’t often wear, if ever. “I wish it were true. I wish dead men stayed dead. I’m lucky it was a red priestess who raised me instead of the Night King. But thousands of others weren’t. And now they’re just mindless soldiers in his army and they’re coming for us all.”

“What does this Night King want?” Olenna asked solemnly. It was a question Jon had never heard before and hadn’t thought to ask. In all honesty, he had no idea. Did the Night King simply want to see an end of humanity? Kill every living soul in Westeros, Essos, beyond, and rule in a world of always winter? Or were the White Walkers after something more?

“Next time I see him, I’ll ask him for you,” was the only thing Jon could say that he thought might lighten the mood. It worked. Olenna’s grimace finally broke and her usual smirk settled back in. She fingered the ravens scroll in her hand and sat back down. Jon slipped back into his tunic and did the same.

“Tell me Jon Snow, with this…” she motioned toward his chest, “You could get any number of people to follow you, I’m sure of it. Why support the Targaryen queen? Why not simply go after the Iron Throne yourself?” The mere insinuation made Jon flinch. “Ahh, not fond of power then?”

“I just want to make sure everyone is safe and prepared for the fight against the dead,” Jon told her honestly. “And I’m getting a bit tired of taking off my shirt for everyone just so they’ll believe me,” he quipped. Olenna laughed. 

“Fair enough Jon Snow, fair enough. But, in light of recent events...and recent correspondence,” she flicked the ravens scroll toward him. “I cannot let you return to Oldtown just yet.” Jon gave her a questioning look. “You’re coming with me.” Jon unrolled the scroll, noticing it had a seal on it he didn’t recognize.

_ Lady Olenna, I wish to convey my deepest condolences for the loss of your son and grandchildren. As someone who has also lost loved ones at the hands of the Lannisters, believe me when I say I know how you are feeling. Seems to me, because of that fact, we should have much to discuss. I invite you to come to Sunspear and enjoy all the hospitalities Dorne has to offer. Ever your friend in the south, Ellaria Sand, Lady of Sunspear. _

“Apparently you’re not the only one who wishes to see Cersei off the Iron Throne, Snow,” Olenna began once Jon set the scroll back down. “Perhaps this Ellaria Sand will even take a liking to you as you both share bastard heritage.  _ Lady of Sunspear _ . Seems bastards can rise high in this world after all. Who ever would have thought?”   


	6. Dorne

_ Jon, please give Lady Olenna my deepest sympathies. Margery was like a sister to me when I was at court and it’s been difficult for me to accept that she’s gone. I apologize for not writing you sooner. It took quite a bit of convincing but with the help of Jaime Lannister, I was finally able to talk my uncle Brynden into giving Riverrun back to the Freys, with the understanding that the Tully army would march north with me to take back Winterfell. While that is still our plan, he will be traveling with me to The Vale first to meet with my cousin Robin Arryn. Perhaps with the support of the Tullys and The Vale, we can take back Winterfell before the dragon queen arrives in Westeros. Send next correspondence to the Eyrie. Love, Sansa. _

 

_ Sansa, I’m glad to know you are well and that you now have the support of your uncle. Although please, I beg you not to march on Winterfell until I am able to return north. This is a dangerous time for everyone and we must make sure we are all on the same page. Lady Olenna has received word from Dorne and I am going to accompany her there as it appears we all have much in common. I hope to see you soon. Send word to Sunspear to let me know you’ve reached the Eyrie safely. Love always, Jon. _

 

Upon arriving in Dorne, Jon was immediately aware of two things: the first was that not all capital cities were created equal in beauty and splendor; and the second was that he had never felt more heated in his entire life. Seeing the sweat drip from his brow in the confines of the wheelhouse, Lady Olenna handed him her fan. Jon took it gratefully and closed his eyes against his selfmade breeze. Davos merely smirked. Being from Flea Bottom, the heat wasn’t as strange and uncomfortable to him as it was to Jon.

“Never been to Dorne before, my dear?” Olenna asked him, amusement alight in her mischievous eyes. 

“Never been this far south, my lady,” Jon answered. He looked out the window then, seeking Ghost, finding the direwolf walking alongside them looking just as miserable in the heat as Jon felt. “If it’s all right, I think I’ll just continue on foot with him for a while.”

“Oh, quit your whingeing, Snow, we’re almost there.” However, Lady Olenna was only half correct. They reached the Old Palace of Sunspear soon enough but were met there by Tyene Sand, Lady Ellaria’s daughter. Apparently, for security's sake, they would not be staying in Sunspear, but the Water Gardens just up the way. “You’ll like it much better, I promise you,” Tyene informed them but Olenna was skeptical.

“You couldn’t have just told us to arrive at the Water Gardens instead?” she snapped, clearly just as irritated from the heat and travel as Jon was, though he wasn’t at all about to say so. 

“We wanted to make sure you weren’t followed,” Tyene explained simply. And with that, Jon, Davos, Ghost, and Olenna were on the move again until they arrived at the private seaside palace that was the former residence to the Prince of Dorne. 

“You southerners certainly know how to stack stones,” Jon couldn’t help but comment as Tyene escorted them through the palace to show them to the guest apartments. Unlike the unsightly city of Sunspear with its dirt brown towers and claustrophobic narrow alleyways, the Water Gardens were much more inviting, the pools and fountains and blood orange trees reminding Jon of Highgarden. 

“And where are you from?” Tyene asked him. Before they departed, Olenna had written Lady Ellaria explaining she was bringing an important traveling companion but she hadn’t said who or what Jon’s business traveling with her was.

“The north,” Jon answered, not wanting to say too much too soon. But Tyene seemed satisfied with that. 

“Oh, come here to get warm, did you?” she asked him, and Jon couldn’t help but laugh. It was exactly what he had told Edd he would do once he got south. Although in honesty, had Jon known it would be  _ this _ hot in Dorne, he might have gone back to Oldtown and let Olenna work on this alliance by herself. 

Once they were shown their rooms, Tyene mercifully extended them an invitation to cool off in the many pools around the palace. Her mother Ellaria had important business to attend to that evening and they wouldn’t be able to meet with her until tomorrow. 

“Lady Sand,” Jon called after Tyene as she walked out of his room

“Tyene please.  _ Lady Sand _ sounds like a bad joke, does it not?” Jon thought back to his first few weeks after joining the Night’s Watch. How Alliser Thorne had dubbed him  _ Lord Snow _ , meaning it as an insult. As time went on, the nickname grew on him and he had been named Lord Commander after all. But still, he could see her point.

“Aye, I suppose if the wrong person says it, it might, but I only meant it as respect.”

“What is it you need Jon Snow?” she asked.

“I was just wondering, the pools. Do you think it would be all right if Ghost here cooled himself off as well? I reckon he’s probably the only direwolf to be in Dorne in a few thousand years. He’s not really adjusted well to the heat.” Tyene smiled. 

“He’s fine. Come here handsome,” she said to the direwolf, kneeling so she was eye level with him. She stuck out her hand slowly, allowing Ghost to sniff her before he approached further to let her pet him. “You hear tales about these fearsome direwolves north of The Wall and yet this one seems like a sweet giant stuffy toy.” As she knelt on the ground next to Ghost, Jon couldn’t help but notice the neckline of her dress was incredibly low cut and from his vantage point, he could easily see down it. He blinked a few times and turned away. It was ungentlemanly to notice such things. 

“Oh, he’s pretty fearsome, I promise you. I’ve seen him rip a man’s throat out before.”

“Well then, we mustn't upset you, should we?” Tyene gave Ghost one last pat, told Jon where he might find the nearest pool to bathe and cool off in and bid him farewell. Walking away from him, Jon couldn’t help but wonder if she was swaying her hips in that way on purpose. He closed the door to his chamber and leaned against it, eyes clenched. What was happening to him? 

He never lusted after women before. Never thought about them much at all, save for Ygritte. And then...Yara, in the tavern. She had been so confident, sure of herself. They hadn’t gone to bed together after she discovered the scars on his chest. But the images of what had happened before she pulled off his tunic had played in Jon’s mind every night since. Her rough lips against his, warm tongue playing with his mouth, somewhat calloused but skilled hand taking hold of him in his trousers. For just a few moments, Jon hadn’t worried about anything in the world. Not the treachery of his Night’s Watch brothers, not White Walkers, not fruitlessly researching dragonglass and children of the forest at the Citadel. 

And then it all stopped. He supposed if he saw someone with the kind of marks he bore, he wouldn’t exactly be in the mood to go to bed either. But he knew if he could go back, he may just have accompanied the Greyjoys to Meereen. After Ygritte, Jon didn’t think he would feel love again. Then after his death, it was as if his desires were jumbled, mixed up, pieced out, and incoherent. Not just with sex but eating, drinking, laughing. But now...it was as if that one night with Yara, those precious few moments that held the promise of pleasure and release, had awoken something in Jon he had long forgot was there.

 

The palace was quiet. Almost as if there was no life within its walls save for the few guards that stood in various locations, nearly inconspicuous as their gold embroidered outfits blended in with the foliage. 

Careful to leave his tunic on as he didn’t want anyone asking about his scars, Jon slipped fully clothed, into the pool nearest his chamber, immediately feeling relief from the mid-evening heat. It was almost like being back at Winterfell with the hot springs on cool days, just opposite. It made Jon miss Winterfell much more than he had in recent months. He thought of Sansa’s letter he received just before leaving for Dorne and wondered when they would be able to go home again.

Ghost followed Jon into the pool as well, his legs long enough that he could stand and his head was still above water. The direwolf doggy-paddled up and back a few times and he and Jon played. Jon would hold out his arm and Ghost would attack, wresting his arm back and forth, though he never used his fangs. Jon imagined if Ghost had been able to grow with his siblings, this would be the kind of game they’d play. When both grew tired, Ghost took refuge on a step inside the pool, laying down and resting his head on the edge of it. Jon lay back in the water, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness. Whether he was there for minutes or hours, he could not say. He may have even fallen asleep at one point. But the sound of footsteps approaching alerted him to another’s presence. 

“Enjoying the water, Jon Snow?” he heard Tyene call to him from somewhere behind. It felt so good floating in the cool pool, Jon couldn’t even give her a coherent answer.  _ Mmmhmm _ was all he was able to manage. “Mind if I join you? It is hot today, is it not?” Another  _ mmhmm _ . He heard a splash and another sound he thought might be Ghost shaking himself dry. Another series of splashes and Jon thought Tyene might be swimming laps. But soon enough, she got his attention again, her voice much closer. “Has anyone ever told you, you’ve got the most beautiful curly hair I’ve ever seen?”

Jon smirked. “Lots,” was all he could answer in his relaxed state.

“You’re quite humble, aren’t you?”

“ ‘s not about being humble. It’s just true.” She laughed at his explanation and Jon could feel her get closer. Part of him wanted to open his eyes so he could find her and lengthen the distance between them again. But another part liked knowing that she was close. 

“May I?” she said quietly and Jon felt soft fingers weave through his wet locks. Jon tensed immediately but didn’t tell her to stop. “Sorry, I just had to see if your hair was really as soft as it looked.”  _ Shit _ . Or wonderful. Jon couldn’t decide. He was a formal guest of Ellaria’s and Olenna’s traveling companion, after all. It wouldn’t look great if he fucked the Lady of Sunspear’s daughter while he was supposed to be on a diplomatic mission.  

Resigned to good behavior and feeling guilty he still hadn’t been able to decipher these new urges and desires, Jon let out a breath and allowed himself to sink into the water before coming up to meet Tyene’s gaze.

“Oh fuck,” Jon choked, as he scrambled away from her, falling back into the water again. She was completely naked. “My lady, I’m sorry I--”

“I told you before Jon Snow, I’m not a lady,” she said from behind him as he had turned around to give her privacy. Though horribly, not looking upon her didn’t erase what he had already seen. And what he had seen was probably the best he’d ever seen. “My lady, I...I think I’m quite refreshed. I...thank...you,” Jon got out awkwardly.  _ Thank you? What was that? Thank you for showing me your tits? _ Jon thought idiotically. He couldn’t get his thoughts straight. He needed to get back inside and away from her as soon as possible. 

“I can help you with this,” Tyene murmured, grabbing him suddenly, one arm wrapping around his waist, the other gripping his cock which was embarrassingly hard. Jon gasped.  _ Who were these women? _ First Yara. Now Tyene. Maybe they could smell it on him, like dogs to a bitch in heat. Did his scent change when he died and came back, no longer a man of the Night’s Watch? Did he give off some sort of invisible signal that he was ready to be ridden? 

Jon pushed her hand away as politely as he could, untangling himself from her. He turned side face so he didn’t seem so rude with his back to her completely, but still refusing to look at her. “That’s...quite all right my lady. I’m going to turn in for the evening.” He climbed out of the water.

“I could turn in with you,” she offered in that painfully sexy Dornish dialect.

“No thank you my lady,” Jon said retreating. 

“I’m not a lady, Jon Snow.”  _ Well, that much was obvious _ . But Jon didn’t look back as he and Ghost walked back to his guest room. Just to be sure she wouldn’t come after him, he discreetly slipped the lock on the door into place. He couldn’t think about her right now. He needed to focus. He needed to direct all his attention to the task at hand. He needed to not be such a complete cock.

 

“Lady Olenna, I had no idea your significant traveling companion was your personal bed warmer.” Jon choked on the glass of red he’d been sipping. He looked to Olenna, face full of confusion and terror. For all her graces, the queen of thorns simply rolled her eyes, but Jon couldn’t help feel his underarms sweat in the warm Dornish afternoon. Bed warmer. That was the first thing Ellaria Sand chose to say to them. Jon took a deep breath to collect his thoughts. Whatever preconceived notions he may have held about Dornish women before, they hadn’t gone far enough. 

“Jon Snow is neither my bed warmer nor anyone’s. He’s Lord Eddard Stark’s bastard son.” Ellaria’s expression changed a bit then, from something more provocative, to intrigue.

“Ahh, now I can see why you brought him. Hatred does make for strange bedfellows.” 

“The last time a Tyrell was in Dorne he was assassinated. A hundred red scorpions, I believe. You murder your own prince. And yet you expect us to trust you,” Olenna replied not missing a beat and Jon was immensely glad she was here. He couldn’t imagine meeting with the Dornish ladies alone.

“You have nothing to fear from us. Neither of you,” Ellaria reassured.

“We invited you to Dorne because we needed your help,” Tyene’s half sister Obara added. “You came to Dorne because you needed our help.”  _ They needed Olenna’s help _ . That was a decent way to start off the negotiation.

“What was your name again? Barbara?”  _ The Queen of Thorns has been unleashed again.  _

“Obara,” Obara answers irritated. 

“Obara. You look like an angry little boy. Don’t presume to tell me what I need.” 

“Um, Lady Ellaria,” Jon butted in, noticing Tyene’s other half sister, Nymeria, getting ready to retort. “You invited Lady Olenna, you said, because you needed her help. What exactly did you mean by that?”

“This one cuts straight to business,” Ellaria remarked to Olenna. “I like him.” Jon gave a tight smile, hoping they could stop playing this game. “Cersei Lannister needs to answer for the crimes she’s committed against Dorne, the Tyrells, and of course, the Starks.” She gave Jon a nod of recognition. “And that’s where an alliance between us would be greatly beneficial.”

“So what is your plan then?” Jon asked. An alliance was just one part. He wondered what else the Dornish lady had in mind before telling her of his idea. 

“Vengeance. Justice.” Ellaria said simply. 

“Forgive me my lady, but that’s not a plan,” Jon said pointedly and he thought he could see Olenna smirk out of the corner of his eye. Ellaria regarded him curiously. 

“Cersei has declared war on House Tyrell. She has declared war on Dorne. Instead of sitting idly by like our late Prince Doran hoping for peace, we should engage her. Defeat the Lannisters once and for all.” Ellaria finished with a determined look in her eye and the three younger women nodded their approval. Jon however, was not impressed. 

“And then what?” he asked. The Lady of Sunspear blinked at him slowly, clearly less than pleased at his pestering questions. 

“Then the Lannisters are gone and we’ll have avenged those we love whom we lost at their hands, that’s what Jon Snow.” 

“So you would leave the country without a leader?” Olenna insisted. At her words, Ellaria got a knowing glint in her eye. She purses her lips briefly before speaking again. 

“Who sits the Iron Throne after Cersei Lannister is dead, is that what you’re asking?”

“It is, my lady,” Jon answered

“You intrigue me Jon Snow. You sought out Lady Olenna before our ravens had even left the rookery. I’m trying to think, but I don’t believe there’s ever been a direct alliance of the North with the Reach.”

“I think you’re thinking too small, is all, my lady,” Jon tried to offer in a conciliatory tone. “Certainly the Lannisters have wronged the Tyrells. They’ve wronged Dorne - many times over. But they’ve also wronged the Arryns, the Tullys, the Starks. The North is held by the Boltons and the Riverlands, the Freys. Two houses that plotted with the Lannisters to kill my brother and his mother. If we could defeat them, then that’s five kingdoms against the crown instead of just two. If Yara and Theon Greyjoy can defeat their uncle Euron, then that’s six.”

“Greyjoys and the Vale?” Tyene exclaimed. Jon nodded.

“The more kingdoms we can get to rise up against Cersei, the better our odds of succeeding. My sister was just in the Riverlands broaching our plan with her uncle, Brynden Tully. They’ve recently left for the Eyrie to speak with her cousin, Robin Arryn.”

“Well, Jon Snow, you’ve done much more thinking about this than I originally expected. So tell me then. What is your answer to that question? Who do  _ you _ put on the Iron Throne once Cersei is dead, if you had your choice?” Ellaria asked. “Yourself perhaps? Even if you are a bastard, I must say, you definitely have the uh,  _ aesthetics _ for it.” She smirked and Jon gulped.  _ Were most women this brazen? _ Jon had always thought women were supposed to be polite, well behaved, chaste, virginal. But it seemed every woman Jon had come across since leaving for The Wall was just as forward in her desires as any man. Ygritte, Melisandre, Yara, Tyene, her mother. He took a large draught of wine before answering. He could see Davos smirking out of the corner of his eye.  _ Damn him _ . 

“Well my lady, based on my experiences and the time I spent as Lord Commander of Castle Black,” he paused briefly, deciding to start with the most honest answer, then work his way back to the proposal. “I’d have to say the only man I’ve ever met I believe was qualified to rule the Seven Kingdoms was Stannis Baratheon.”

“ _ Stannis Baratheon? _ ” Exactly the reaction he had predicted. He pressed on hurriedly. 

“Stannis was the only one out of all the self proclaimed kings here in the south to temporarily stop his pursuit of the Iron Throne. He did that so he could come north and offer us his aid at The Wall when we needed it most.” Jon paused again at the skeptical look Ellaria gave him. “He gave us ships so we could ferry the free folk safely south of The Wall without requiring any of them to swear him fealty or support his claim to the throne. He understood that the greatest threat to the realm wasn’t everyone here fighting each other, or this house or that house, but that it was what lies beyond The Wall.”

“And what, Jon Snow, lies beyond The Wall?” Tyene asked pointedly. Vaguely he wondered if she was sore about him not taking her to bed the night before.

“An army of dead men,” Lady Olenna answered for him and he was grateful for it. Jon was just a bastard from the north after all. Maybe hearing a lady of a great house from here in the south say it would make it more believable. “We know it sounds like nonsense. I didn’t want to believe it. But look at the evidence. The first Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch in thousands of years allows wildlings to pass south of The Wall before winter. The true heir to Robert Baratheon who wanted nothing more than to take back his brother’s throne, stalls his war with the Lannisters to travel north. The Wall hasn’t been properly manned in hundreds of years. Probably because none of us southerners ever took the threat very seriously. But now that the dead are stirring, it is very much our problem, as it is the north’s.”

Ellaria and the three younger women were all silent. Jon hoped that was a sign they were at least open to the idea he was about to propose. But before he could continue, Ellaria finally found her voice and asked, “If you were Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, how is it that you are here?”  _ Shit _ . Davos and Olenna shot him a look, neither wanting to answer this question for him. And Jon really wasn’t in the mood to take off his shirt again. Perhaps he could get around it.

“I was lawfully released from my vows,” he said cryptically. “And now I’m working to help in any way I can to prepare the rest of the realm for what’s coming.”

“Was it Stannis Baratheon who released you from your vows?” Tyene asked. Jon looked at her, mouth slightly open. That was an idea. Why had he not thought of it before? But instead of straight out lying to her, he decided to give an indistinguishable head gesture and noncommittal mumble.  

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Stannis traveling north to The Wall.” And that was completely the truth. Luckily, the Dornish women seemed to believe him. “But,” Jon went on, finally thankful to be getting back on track, “Stannis is dead.” 

“Stannis is dead,” Ellaria echoed. “So that brings me back to my original question. You say you want to help unite the realm. You say you want Cersei off the Iron Throne, as we do. So who then do you put on it to replace her?” Davos and Olenna looked to Jon again. Olenna gave him the slightest of encouraging nods.

“Daenerys Targaryen.” At his words, Ellaria broke out into a humorous smile and Jon prayed she would take him seriously this time.

“Daenerys Targaryen. The Mad King’s daughter?” she clarified. 

“The very same,” Jon declared in what he hoped was a confident sounding voice. 

“Have you met this dragon queen?” Ellaria asked, her smile getting wider.

“No, I have not yet had the pleasure.”

“So why then, are you working so hard to see her on the Iron Throne?” A fair question, Jon knew. The name Targaryen had been greatly tainted with King Aerys II. And Daenerys hadn’t been back to Westeros since her birth. She was the Queen Across the Sea. Few people in the Seven Kingdoms knew she was even still alive, let alone knew her full story. Jon had to sell it.

“A few years ago, Daenerys was sold to a Dothraki Khal for marriage, by her brother Viserys. In exchange, the Khal was supposed to give her brother the army he needed to take back the throne. He failed. But through an odd series of events, this lead to Daenerys hatching three dragon eggs she had received as a wedding gift when she married Khal Drogo. Not a year later, she not only had three dragons, but an army of Unsullied and the support of the Essosi sellswords, the Second Sons. With her armies, Daenerys decided not to return here to Westeros to take back the Iron Throne. Instead she stayed in Essos, dedicating her efforts to liberate the slaves of Slaver’s Bay. Someone with that much power and influence and as good a claim to the throne as any, seems like the kind of leader who actually deserves to sit it. And, as the dead soldiers can be killed by fire, a dragon or three on this side of the Narrow Sea couldn’t hurt.” Jon took a deep breath as he finished and felt his pulse start to slow when he saw Lady Olenna nodding approvingly. All they needed now was for the Dornish women to agree.

“You are a rare one,” Ellaria mused. Jon furrowed his brow, not sure whether to take it as a compliment or not. “Well my friends, it seems to me that when two people from two very different parts of the world have the same thought at the same time, it must mean something significant.” Without pausing to explain, Ellaria rang a little brass bell she kept next to her. At the sound, a plump, bald man Jon didn’t recognize, emerged from behind a trellis thick with flowers and ivy. But when he looked to Olenna, her saw her face had cracked into something like a satisfied smirk, as if she should have known all along.

“My, my Jon Snow, you have done your research, haven’t you?” 


	7. The Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit longer than usual but hope you guys like!

_ Jon, I’ve reached the Eyrie safely and my cousin Robin has agreed to help us. As Ramsay has a large host at his back, we believe it best to take back the Riverlands from the Freys first before marching north. With the Freys defeated, we can then rally the Riverlands to the cause of taking back Winterfell. Hopefull the large host from both the Vale and Riverlands will be enough to convince other northern lords to fight with us as well. But we will await your word. Don’t let those Dornish ladies take advantage of you! Love from, Sansa _

 

“I’m not going to fuck you Jon Snow,” Tyene breathed, letting her hands fall to her sides.

“ _ What? _ ” Jon got out, his head too cloudy with need to fully comprehend what she was saying. They were both nearly naked and she was sitting on top of him rubbing herself on his cock.  _ What in seven hells did she mean she wasn’t going to fuck him? _

It had only been a week since Jon’s arrival in Dorne and Lord Varys hadn’t yet left back to Meereen as they were still fine tuning their plan for securing the country. And Tyene had been pursuing Jon the entire time. Just before they wound up in his bed chamber, she had cornered him and caught him in a long, wet kiss. Jon had attempted to protest, mumbling something about how her mother wouldn’t like if he dishonored her in that way. Then all of a sudden, Ellaria’s voice echoed from somewhere down the hallway as she passed the corridor, asking why would she care what the two did together in private? Jon had been utterly mortified...and aroused. Unlike Yara, Tyene was a Sand. A bastard, just like him. Sand and Snow. It almost sounded like a mummer’s song. No longer feeling guilty for anything, he’d yanked open his chamber door and she’d pushed him inside.

“I’m not going to fuck you Jon Snow,” Tyene repeated. “You’re going to fuck me.” With that she hooked an elbow underneath him and flipped them over so she was on her back and he was perched above her. “I’m not a lady so don’t try to make love to me like a lady. You know what you want. So go ahead and take it.” For not the first time since meeting her, Jon was reminded of the free folk. How their version of marriage was “stealing” someone from a different village and making them theirs. Even though Tyene said she didn’t want to be made love to, Jon couldn’t help but think in that moment, with her underneath him, that perhaps she could be his.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asked, trying to make his voice sound rough and deep. She nodded.

“And I want you to take off this tunic.” She reached for it but Jon caught her hand roughly, desperate to keep this one thing to himself while in Dorne. He had succeeded so far. But he knew he would let her walk right back out of his room if she kept insisting on exposing him. Maybe once they knew each other better. Maybe after they had made love a few times -  _ fucked _ , a little voice in Jon’s head said, fucked, she wanted to be fucked, not made love to - but not now.

“It stays on.” He glared at her for a minute and when she got a sly smile on her face and nodded, he released her. “If you want me to fuck you,” Jon began and Tyene raised an eyebrow. “You’re not leaving tonight.” The suspicious eyebrow rose even higher. “If I have to, I’ll tie you to the bed so you can’t get away.” She smirked, just the effect he had hoped she would have. Again, she nodded her consent.

With that, Jon leaned down to kiss her but when his lips touched hers, she pulled back and took his bottom lip between her teeth. He repaid the favor, gently grazing his teeth along her top lip. But when he tried to kiss her a second time she bit him again, a devious glint in her eyes. He tried a different tactic. He moved to her neck but she bit his shoulder and scratched along his back and even though fabric separated them, it still stung. She wasn’t joking when she said she wasn’t a lady. She had such beautiful skin and all he wanted to do was kiss it. But if they kept this up,  _ his _ skin would be raw by the time they were done.

Seeing no other option, Jon pulled back and flipped her on her stomach. Immediately she perched on all fours and looked back, giving him a knowing smirk. So this was what she wanted. He had never been with Ygritte like this. Though she was a wilding, the times they made love were rather sweet. He missed her. 

But Ygritte was gone and Tyene was a real live girl in front of him.  _ The dead don’t need lovers, Jon Snow _ , Melisandre has told him. He shook off his thoughts from a different lifetime and ran a hand along Tyene’s spine. Her skin was warm and soft and inviting. He couldn’t help leaning over to place soft kisses down her back to her plump and firm behind. 

“What are you waiting for?” she begged impatiently. So she wouldn’t think he was trying to  _ make love _ to her, he sunk his teeth into her flesh for a not very gentle nip and she hummed with approval. He rubbed his cock against her entrance and shuddered at how wet she was. How long had it been since Ygritte?  _ Years _ . 

Gripping her hip with one hand and his cock with the other, Jon thrust himself into her, letting out an almost pained groan as he did so.  _ Fuck _ . As Tyene arched her back and let out a sigh, Jon realized how much he needed this. He closed his eyes and rubbed circles into her hips with his thumbs, unmoving, simply enjoying the feeling of being inside her. 

But Tyene, ever the aggressor and instigator, started pushing back against him, taking control even though she was in a position of submission. Jon thought there was probably no position he could ever get her in where she wouldn’t be the one in control. And, as he hadn’t done this in so long, he let her take the lead. 

It was all Jon could do not to finish immediately once she started moving. Her warmth, her slickness, her tightness. Each push and pull sent a shock through his system and he ridiculously imagined she was fucking him back to life. It certainly felt like it. With each jerk of her hips, Tyene let out a little grunt of satisfaction, taking him all the way inside her, then pulling back letting him slip almost out before she would sink back onto him again. 

As her movements became quicker and her breathing more erratic, Tyene reached back and commanded, “Give me your hand.” Jon was quick to do as she asked and she guided his hand to the spot between her legs. He knew what she wanted him to do and he would do it but first Jon reached down just a little lower, to the place where their bodies joined, feeling his cock slide in and out of her, between his fingers.  _ Fffuckk. _ Jon knew he wouldn’t last much longer so he started working her with his fingers. After his careful and focused attention, he suddenly felt her inner walls begin to constrict around him and Tyene gave a helpless groan and Jon was undone. With a few fumbling, stuttered thrusts, he tilted his head back and spilled inside her with a moan much too loud for decency but he didn’t care. Feeling completely sated and spent, they both sunk into the bed, Jon’s body covering hers.  

He shifted so he was only half on top of her and with that small displacement of weight, Tyene took the opportunity and attempted to get up. But Jon snaked a hand around her waist, holding her to him. “I told you I’d tie you to the bed if you tried to get away,” he murmured. 

“You just might have to if you keep cuddling me like this,” she teased. So she wouldn’t think him too tender and soft, Jon swatted her behind sharply in response, making her giggle. He didn’t want her to go. It felt so sweet to have someone laying next to him. 

“You’ve got to sleep anyway. Might as well sleep here,” he pointed out hoping he didn’t sound too desperate. “And besides, if you stay, I can wake you in the middle of the night and fuck you again.” Lightly, he let his teeth graze the back of her neck. She shivered at the sensation and sighed.

“All right, Jon Snow, I’ll stay.” She repositioned so she was turned on her side and Jon wrapped his arm around her once more. Though he knew he wouldn’t be ready to take her again any time soon, he still couldn’t keep his hands off her. His fingers danced over her skin, stomach, breasts, circling around her nipples. He watched as she drifted off rather quickly, despite her previous protests, but Jon couldn’t find sleep as easily. He was too wrapped up in her. Her smell, her warmth, her silky olive skin. Looking down at her pressed snug against him, he couldn’t help but think she was perfect. He knew he shouldn’t be, but Jon felt half in love with her already.

 

“How do you know about the Dothraki?” Varys asked Jon, eyes narrowed, as they, Olenna, Ellaria, Davos and the  _ sand snakes _ \- Jon hated that nickname for some reason - all sat on the terrace, planning for the Targaryen queen’s return to Westeros. As they talked, Ellaria and Tyene’s sisters kept shooting him knowing smirks. It was maddening. They had more important things to think about than who the northern bastard was bedding. But for all her graces, Tyene’s face remained impassive as if he hadn’t been inside her every night for the last week.

“Jorah Mormont. I met him at the Citadel where he’s seeking treatment for greyscale.” Ellaria let out a sarcastic huff. 

“There is no cure for greyscale. He should have fallen on his sword the moment he knew he was infected.” Davos glared at her.

“Shireen Baratheon survived and was cured of her greyscale when she was just an infant,” Davos said, a touch of bite to his tone. Jon knew Davos had been devastated when he learned none of the Baratheons survived the battle for Winterfell but knew he mourned the Princess Shireen most of all.

“Wasn’t Mormont exiled?” Olenna asked, shifting the focus of the conversation.

“Indeed my lady,” Varys answered. “He was an exiled knight, turned sellsword. Then informant for Robert Baratheon and now, utterly devoted follower of the queen. He’s kept by her side since the day she married Khal Drogo.” Olenna and the Dornish women nodded. Varys turned back to Jon. “So what I’m to understand is that she’s on her way back to Meereen with the entirety of the Dothraki people. Every member of every khalasar?” 

“She is, according to Ser Jorah. Apparently she killed all the Khals and in that showing of strength, all the Dothraki decided to follow her,” Jon answered. He couldn’t help but notice the way Nymeria’s eyebrow shot up as she turned to Obara, who had a similar shocked and impressed look upon her face. 

“So we’ll have one hundred thousand Dothraki, several thousand Unsullied, these Second Sons, three dragons...and that’s not even counting the forces here in Dorne, the Reach, and the Vale?” Ellaria confirmed. 

“Almost doesn’t seem like a fair fight,” Davos said. 

“Not entirely true,” Varys informed. “Before I left Meereen the masters had burned our entire fleet. How many ships can we expect from the Greyjoys?”

“One hundred,” Jon answered, knowing it wasn’t enough. 

“Well, we don’t have many, but what Highgarden can spare, I will,” Olenna offered.

“Dorne as well,” Ellaria added.

“And no doubt my good friend Lord Tyrion had already started working on a plan to acquire ships when our fleet was destroyed. Let us hope he solved that problem.”

“Tyrion Lannister?” Jon cut in. Varys hadn’t mentioned Tyrion before. Jon didn’t even know Tyrion was still alive and though he was certainly glad to hear it now, he couldn’t help but notice the way Davos’s expression darkened at the mention of him. He would have to ask him about that some time. 

“Lord Tyrion accompanied me to Essos after I helped him escape King’s Landing. The queen decided to make him one of her advisors before she was attacked in Meereen and fled on dragonback. He ruled the city in her stead while Jorah and the leader of the Second Sons went searching for her. Although from what you’ve told me, I’m sure she’s back in Meereen by now.” Jon nodded though something about what Varys said unsettled him. Why hadn’t he mentioned Tyrion before? 

But as Varys’s time in Dorne was short, they had to move on to more important matters. Davos was first to speak. “Where will she land, once the queen is able to cross the Narrow Sea?”

Varys pondered for a moment. “No doubt the queen will wish to return to Dragonstone. Stannis Baratheon left the castle deserted when he ventured north and it’s the place of her birth. Along with that, it’s not a day’s sail to King’s Landing, once we figure out the best plan to take the city. It’s an ideal location.” Ellaria nodded seemingly satisfied but Jon had other thoughts. 

“For the queen, maybe, and a small host. But I think it would be better if we had the Dothraki come here to the mainland.” Everyone looked to Jon questioningly. He continued. “It’ll put us in a better position to lay siege to King’s Landing and to take the Westerlands when the time comes. Plus, if the Dothraki are in Dorne or Highgarden, they won’t be seen so much as outsiders if they’ve been settled for a time, amongst allies in the Reach and here. We can’t have each individual army being given a different task. We all have to work together. The details can be worked out once the queen arrives at Dragonstone, but we have to remember this is about uniting the people.” 

Varys considered him a moment, that same suspicious look in his eye. But he decided to turn his attention instead to Lady Olenna. “And how do you feel, my lady, about Dothraki settling in the Reach?” Olenna looked between Jon and Varys. 

“I agree with Snow. The first thing Cersei will want to do once she finds out we’ve aligned with House Targaryen will be to come for our heads. My delicate little roses have never been known for their prowess in battle. I’d feel safer with a more skilled army guarding us until we’re ready to march on the capital.”

“I’m with Lady Olenna...although, the Dornish have always prided ourselves on our fighting skills,” Ellaria commented with a smirk. 

They concluded their planning for the day and the first thing Jon did was reread Sansa’s letter so he could send her a thoughtful reply. As he got to the end, he couldn’t help but shake his head at her comment on Dornish women.  _ Too late Sansa _ , he thought.

“What is it?” Tyene asked, walking into his room unannounced as if she belonged there. Jon liked that she did that. He also liked when she came up behind him and grabbed a fistful of his hair to yank his head back for a searing kiss...although he wished she was more gentle in her affections. Instead of waiting for Jon’s response, Tyene simply snatched Sansa’s letter out of his hand. He didn’t fight her as he had been about to hand it over...and he wasn’t sure he could win in a fight against her anyway.

“Hmm, have I taken advantage of you, Jon Snow?” she asked suggestively. Jon laughed. 

“Well, maybe just a little bit.” Tyene pulled a face as if she were offended and sat on his lap, straddling him. Jon immediately wrapped his arms around her in response.  _ Sand and Snow _ .  _ It even sounds good together,  _ Jon thought. They had only been intimate for about a week and already Jon didn’t like the idea of sleeping without her. Maybe it was her warm weight, maybe it was her steady breathing, or maybe it was just her, but Jon found that since Tyene had been sharing his bed, he rested better than he had in the time after he came back from the dead. 

“Were you terribly busy replying to your sister’s letter?” She asked him. Jon’s smile widened.

“Nothing I can’t put off for the afternoon,” he replied.

“I don’t need the whole afternoon,” Tyene said in mock surprise. “Just a few minutes.”

“I think I can definitely spare a few minutes.”

“Good.” With that she lifted up her dress - not that it was terribly long anyway - and fumbled with the ties on Jon’s trousers. When she sank onto his eager and waiting cock, she went for his tunic, like she often did when they  _ fucked _ . Jon grabbed her hand, as he always did and sighed. “Are you ever going to tell me why you don’t want me to take this off?” she asked, slowing her movements. 

“Of course I can tell you. I’ve got scars all over my body and I just...don’t like people to see them.” She frowned at that but placed her hands on his shoulders for leverage and started to move again. It had been different with Yara. With Yara he was too drunk to remember the scars until they were staring her in the face. And with Olenna, that was just his last ditch effort to gain her trust. But even with Tyene nibbling on his earlobe and riding him and bringing him to ecstasy, he still didn’t feel completely comfortable letting her see what happened to him. The failure he had been forced to pay for with his life.

 

Later that evening, Jon, Davos and Olenna sat eating dinner. “So we’ve got ships, we’ve got the Vale, and we’ve got a plan for landing,” Olenna was saying. “Now the only question is, what do we do about the Freys and the Boltons?”

“Well, according to Sansa, Ramsay has a large host at his back.”

“He defeated Stannis on the field,” Davos added. “To go up against him, we’ve got to be prepared.”

“Which is why,” Jon went on, “Sansa thinks it would probably be best to take the Riverlands first and then march on Winterfell.”

“Does she have enough men to do that herself?” Olenna asked.

“I’m not sure,” Jon told her honestly. “But what I do know is that the Lannisters in the Riverlands. If Sansa and her uncle march on the Twins, especially with forces from the Vale, Cersei will know at least two of her kingdoms have risen up against her.”

“Good point,” Davos acknowledged. “So what you’re saying is they should wait until the Lannisters have left the Riverlands before going in, leave the Freys vulnerable?”

“Exactly,” Jon replied.

Olenna took a sip of wine before asking her next question. “Do you think she’ll need help from the Reach?”

“Probably not my lady,” Jon told her. “If the Blackfish took back Riverrun with the remainder of the Tully forces, they, along with the Vale, will probably have no problem taking the Twins. I imagine.”

“You imagine,” Olenna echoed in that stern, calculating voice of hers. “Don’t assume Snow. Write to your sister and have her ask Brynden Tully exactly what they’ll need to take back the Riverlands. If we have to wait until the Targaryen forces get here, so be it. Better to be over prepared than guessing blindly.”

“As you say, my lady.” Olenna considered Jon then, her gaze roving over his features in a way that almost made Jon feel uncomfortable. The Lady of Highgarden had those eyes that always made him think she could see right through him. She looked as if she were about to say something, her lips even parted the slightest bit, but she closed her mouth and looked away, as if deciding whatever she had wanted to say wasn’t worth the effort. 

They continued eating and talking about other, inconsequential topics. The Dornish weather, the wine, how Ghost walked around looking terribly bored most of the time, unless Jon took him down to the beach to run and play. Davos regaled them with stories of his smuggling days and Stannis taking the first knuckles of his fingers for it. 

“Why did you carry them around your neck?” Olenna asked humorously. 

“I dunno. Luck? They were mine anyway so why not?” 

Davos kept them laughing with more stories until Olenna announced she would turn in for the evening. Once she was gone, Jon yawned extravagantly to make a show to Davos of how  _ tired _ he was and that he should probably turn in as well.

“Tired, eh?” Davos asked as Jon stood. “Sure you’re not just leaving so you can roll around with the Sand girl?” Jon pursed his lips, not sure if Davos was scolding him or just poking fun. A flush crept up his neck and his underarms began to sweat, self conscious. But Davos merely shook his head. “Doesn’t matter to me what you do with who. Don’t think the lady does either,” he nodded toward where Olenna had left to. “But Dornish women aren’t like the women where we’re from.”

“Davos, you and I aren’t from the same area,” Jon pointed out somewhat stubbornly.

“Exactly. All I’m saying is, we’re not going to be in Dorne for much longer. Just keep that in mind.”

“I know we’re not staying in Dorne very long,” Jon sighed, exasperated by this conversation. He imagined it would have been one his father would have with him were he still alive. As Ned entered Jon’s thoughts however, his irritation with Davos dissipated. Aside from Sam and Edd back at Castle Black, Jon figured Davos was the closest thing he had to family other than Sansa. “I appreciate the concern Davos,” Jon added, his voice kinder. “But I’ll be fine.”

Davos didn’t seem convinced but he nodded anyway, turning back to his glass of wine as Jon walked off toward his chambers. But even as he opened the door and saw that Tyene was already naked on his bed waiting for him, Jon couldn’t shake what Davos had said. They had another week in Dorne at  _ most _ . Then Varys would travel back to Meereen. Olenna back to Highgarden. And he and Davos back to Oldtown to continue helping Sam. And Jon knew, even if he were foolish enough to ask her, Tyene most likely wouldn’t go with him.

 

“I think waiting for the Lannister forces to leave the Riverlands first is smart,” Varys was saying as Jon and Olenna relayed their discussion from the previous night to the rest of the group. “We could potentially even take Winterfell and the Riverlands at the same time. Secure two kingdoms simultaneously and Cersei will be left scrambling.”

“What about north of The Wall?” Nymeria asked suddenly. Though Jon knew Varys had overheard their entire first meeting with the women of Dorne, they hadn’t yet discussed the army of the dead. He was actually surprised Tyene’s sister brought it up. Varys looked a little taken aback.

“The Wall has kept these dead men out of the Seven Kingdoms for thousands of years, presumably. It’s not exactly an immediate concern, is it?” Jon narrowed his eyes at Varys. The more he talked with the man, the less he trusted him. If Varys had seen the Night King and army of the dead, he certainly wouldn’t be speaking about them so cooly now. 

“But according to you,” Obara nodded to Jon. “The Wall hasn’t been properly manned for...what? A few hundred years? What’s to stop these dead men from coming through if there are only a handful of men up there to stop them?”

“What would you propose we do?” Olenna asked, cutting to the chase as ever. 

“Where were these dead men last seen north of The Wall?” Ellaria asked pensively.

“Hardhome. It’s a … well it  _ was _ a fishing village along the Shivering Sea. Closest Night’s Watch Castle to Hardhome is Eastwatch by the Sea.”

“How many men are at Eastwatch?” Obara asked. Jon stared her a moment, wondering why she and her sister were suddenly so concerned for the north. He knew they believed him about the army of the dead, at least in theory. But it seemed as if they had some plan already in their heads and he wanted to know what it was.

“Forty, fifty?” Jon guessed. “Maybe less.” Jon noticed Davos mouth the word  _ fewer _ and tried to ignore him. 

“So not enough,” Ellaria concluded. Were they hinting at what Jon thought they were hinting at?

“Are you saying you mean to send men to The Wall?” Olenna asked, eyebrows raised.

“Not to join the Night’s Watch,” Tyene explained. “They would be going with the understanding that they are only there to assist the Night’s Watch with defending The Wall. And, when the time comes, they will be in a good position for taking back Winterfell. Hit the Boltons from the north and south.”

“Can Dorne spare so many men?” Varys asked. “How many would you plan to send?”

“We could send five hundred. A fraction of the entire Dornish army,” Ellaria answered. “And of course, since their destination would be The Wall, it would look less suspicious. We would just be answering a request sent by the Lord Commander of Castle Black.” She nodded to Jon. He had almost forgotten that. Before the mutiny, Sam had made him sign over a hundred copies of the same scroll to be sent to all the major houses of the Seven Kingdoms, asking for men, supplies, anything they could spare. Few had given answer.

“I like it,” Jon shrugged. He hadn’t expected this kind of hospitality from the Dornish women and was pleasantly surprised at their enthusiasm.

“Who would be commanding these forces in the north?” Varys asked. Ellaria turned to the three younger women, a proud momma look on her face. Jon looked to Tyene who was already staring at him, eyebrow raised. His heart sunk.

 

“You know it’s going to be bloody freezing up there, don’t you?” Jon asked as he and Tyene stood on the docks, the ship behind her being loaded with food, weapons, furs, and other various supplies that would come in handy once she, her sisters, and the rest of the Dornish forces reached Eastwatch. 

“I’ll manage,” she smiled. “The Wall is the greatest structure ever built. I want to see it, like my father. Oberyn always said most men and women live and die in the same corner of the world where they are born. I don’t want to be like most.” Jon nodded, working incredibly hard not to show how crestfallen he was. And even though he told himself he wouldn’t, his mouth opened and he asked the question anyway.

“You’re not leaving because of me, are you?” His heart thudded as he waited for her to answer. To his horror and great disappointment, she sighed.

“Jon Snow, you are one of the few men out there who need...a  _ good _ girl.”  _ Good girl _ . For some reason, Jon imagined she had used that phrase with many men.

“And you’re not one of them?” he asked, a sad smile taking over his features.

“Do I seem like a good girl to you?” she shot back with her usual sass. Throat too tight to respond right away, he simply let out a huff of laughter through his nose and shook his head. She leaned in then and gave him what he thought might have been a rare, genuinely affectionate embrace. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, pressing his nose to her short bouncy locks, trying to commit to memory her exact scent. 

“You know those men in the Night’s Watch all took a vow of celibacy right?” he asked with a smirk. She laughed. “Remember how you kill a wight?” he quizzed her.

“Fire. Or that dragonglass you spoke of.”

“Good. And if we find a cache of it somewhere, we’ll begin mining and start sending you lot regular shipments so everyone’s properly armed.” She nodded, the sad, sympathetic glaze returning to her eyes.

“I am going to miss you, Jon Snow,” she admitted.

“Yeah. I’ll miss you too.” With a final, chaste kiss on the cheek, Tyene boarded the ship bound for Eastwatch along with her two half sisters and Jon walked back to the Water Gardens with only Ghost to keep him company.

 

Upon returning to the palace, Jon thought he would spend the rest of his last day in Dorne in the pools, soaking up as much warmth and sunshine as possible before winter set in. Not two days before a white raven from the Citadel had arrived announcing autumn’s end. However, Jon’s plans were thwarted when Olenna approached him, ravens scroll in hand. At first he thought it from Sansa but upon further inspection, noticed it had been sent from the Citadel.

“What’s it say?” Olenna asked him. Jon frowned and opened it to Sam’s familiar curly letters and read allowed.

 

_ Jon, I hope this finds you in good health. Ser Jorah’s state has declined. I still haven’t been able to find a cure for greyscale. I will keep you posted on his progress. I did however find something important. Dragonstone is apparently home to a mountain of Dragonglass. I remember Stannis mentioning once they had obsidian on the island but he didn’t say it would be this much. If you mined it all, it would be enough to arm every living person in the entire Seven Kingdoms. You need to go to Dragonstone Jon. I know you will find a way. Ever your friend, Sam. _

 

“Well,” Olenna began, her face almost showing a sign that she was impressed. “Looks like you’re going to Dragonstone Snow.”


	8. Dragonstone

It took several weeks, but finally Jon and the small crew of men Olenna had sent with him, found the mountain of dragonglass on Dragonstone Sam had written him about. It was more than he ever thought possible, small veins of obsidian throughout the island and then a giant cave full of it. Sam had been right. If they mined it all, it would be enough to arm every single living person in all the Seven Kingdoms, and then some. Finally seeing the shimmering glass in the main cave, Jon’s heart felt lighter than it had since his death, even counting his brief affair with Tyene. Suddenly, knowing the dragonglass was here ripe for the taking, Jon felt as if this war with the dead was not so hopeless after all and that they might actually survive the winter.

  
Along with the dragonglass, one of Jon’s men had found something else intriguing in the main cave of it. Further along, deeper into the belly of the island, they found marks on the stone, likely made by the children of the forest. The marks depicted things like symbols Jon couldn’t read, a grove of weirwood trees on some island not Dragonstone, what looked to be figures telling stories, illustrations of the children and the first men using the dragonglass, fighting the White Walkers. One section even looked to be showing the beginnings of The Wall, all manner of life coming together to construct it - children of the forest, the first men, giants, mammoths. It was as if the cave were trying to tell them all something - _You must work together if you wish to survive. Only together, can you hope to defeat this most evil of threats._

  
Even without the splendor of the dragonglass cave though, Jon fell in love with the island of Dragonstone. It was much cooler here than it had been in Dorne, Highgarden, and Oldtown. In his spare time he would walk the cliffs, enjoying the breeze and the view of the Narrow Sea. Ghost seemed happy as well. He had gotten quite good at wading in the little tidepools and catching fish there.

  
The castle too, as damp and drafty and run down as it was, oddly reminded Jon of home. The black stone the castle was constructed of could have been the grey granite of Winterfell. And of course, the dragon likenesses all about the island were intriguing and detailed. Jon had once tried to count all the dragon sculptures and carvings around the castle and island but the number always got too high to remember.

  
Once they had finally mined enough dragonglass for about six hundred weapons, Jon had it sent along to Eastwatch, as he had promised Tyene he would. He hadn’t heard from her but assumed that it was for the best. They had parted ways on good terms and though he missed her at night when he would crawl into yet another unfamiliar bed alone, he hoped she was enjoying herself being a fierce Dornish warrior woman, protecting The Wall as well as any man in the Night’s Watch...probably better actually.

  
Still, Jon couldn’t resist the temptation of sending along a short letter with the dragonglass. He told her about how they had found the cave, the drawings by the children of the forest, and as a sort of cheeky afterthought, that all her lovebites had finally started to fade and he no longer looked as if he’d been attacked by one of those mythical blood sucking demons.  
The weeks continued to drag on and when Jon wasn’t down in the mines, he and Davos, the maester Olenna had sent along with them, and a small group of servants, were working to repair the castle. Since Stannis’s departure, it had fallen into complete disarray. Aegon’s garden was completely overgrown; the famous Painted Table was nearly concealed by a thick layer of grime; the kitchens were infested with rats - Ghost was eager to help with this problem; and every surface of the castle seemed to be covered by dust and salt from the sea breezes that rattled the chilled halls.

  
But Jon was never one to sit still or shy away from a hard day’s work. It was a rare moment when he wasn’t cleaning or mining. In fact, the only time he ever stopped moving it seemed, was when he went to sleep. And even then, in his dreams, Jon always seemed to be in motion. At first he thought he was merely running, but as the dreams continued, he realized he was flying.

  
The first time it happened, Jon had been in the dragonglass cave. He dismissed his men for a midday meal and had sat in the smaller cave with the children of the forest markings. He had only meant to sit for a moment, curious about one symbol in particular that looked to be some sort of spiral pattern, lines meeting in the center and squiggling out from there. It was a mark repeated in multiple areas of the cave so Jon thought it must mean something. But as he sat there staring, all his work and restless evenings took their toll and pulled down on his eyelids until he was fast asleep.

  
A weirwood tree. Jon thought that odd. There was no weirwood tree on Dragonstone. There wasn’t even a godswood on Dragonstone. In fact, the only place of worship on the island was the sept and all the idols had been burned by Melisandre years ago. Cautiously, Jon approached the weirwood tree, his gazed fixed on the face that was carved into it. As Jon stared, the face began to move and shift. Suddenly the face didn’t look like a human face any longer, but a creature, a serpent of some kind. Then the face started to push out and a figure came bursting through the tree. A dragon. It stood before Jon, red eyes and white wings. It was Ghost. But Ghost wasn’t a dragon. He was a direwolf. The dragon screeched at Jon and began flapping it’s wings so he turned and ran. He knew it was silly. How could anyone outrun a dragon? His legs carried him faster than they ever had before but he could feel the dragon’s hot breath on his neck. He ran and ran and ran until suddenly he smacked right into a wall of ice. _The Wall_. Jon turned just in time to see the dragon fold back it’s wings and straighten it’s body, diving straight for him. He clenched his fists and prepared to be devoured but the dragon flew straight through him, into the scar on his chest that lay right above his heart. A searing pain went through Jon and he felt like he was dying all over again. He fell to his knees gasping for air, praying the pain would stop. And then it did. Just like that. He had asked the gods, and they answered. He opened his eyes and got to his feet again. He was back at the weirwood tree only this time Jon was sure he was in the godswood of Winterfell. A woman stood before him clothed in a white dress and white cloak, her belly heavy with child. She had blonde hair and violet eyes. _Daenerys_. Jon had never met the dragon queen before but he was sure this was her, given the stories he’d heard of the Targaryens and Valyrians and their distinct physical characteristics. She gave him a single nod and Jon realized he was tied to the weirwood tree, arms behind his back, gag across his mouth, chest bare. _This is going to hurt_ , Daenerys told him, and she reached forward, fingers digging into the scar the dragon had disappeared into. Jon could feel something moving in there as her fingers attempted to gain purchase of the object and he tried not to scream. As she dug, a voice began to whisper into his ear. _The prince that was promised. The prince that was promised. The prince that was promised._ Suddenly Daenerys gave a shout of victory and extracted the thing that was lodged in Jon’s chest. He watched as she pulled out the object and he saw that it was a single shard of dragonglass. The bindings holding Jon to the tree dissolved as did the gag and Daenerys handed him the shard. _The dragon has three heads_ , the voice said in his ear. _There must be one more_. And Jon knew what he had to do. Using the dragonglass, he cut along Daenerys’s belly and through the bloody slit, a dragon crawled out. But the dragon wasn’t a dragon. It crawled into Daenerys’s waiting arms and she smiled proudly at Jon, seemingly unhurt by the operation. The dragon in her arms that was not a dragon turned out to be a baby. Small, pink, wriggling, perfect. Daenerys’s same violet eyes, maybe a little bit darker. The child held out it’s tiny hand and Jon reached for it. _The prince that was promised_ , Daenerys told him.

  
When Jon awoke, he couldn’t remember a thing.

  
The rest of the dreams were all different but the same too. There was always a dragon in them. Sometimes Jon was running from the dragon, sometimes he was riding the dragon, and sometimes he was the dragon. Ghost was always present too. His red eyes and white fur, much like the colorings of a weirwood tree. Davos noticed the strain the dreams were having on Jon, even if he didn’t know what they were. Each morning Jon would come down to break his fast and Davos could see the deep purple rings under his eyes. But each morning when he would ask Jon the quality of his sleep, Jon would simply say he didn’t know, which was true. When he would regain consciousness each morning, Jon would only have faint wisps of the dreams clinging to him. He thought there was something to do with Dragons but then again there were dragon carvings all over Dragonstone so perhaps that was it.

  
The more dragonglass they mined, Jon was sure to send shipments to Castle Black, Highgarden and Sunspear. Once the rest of the country was secure, he would be sure to send more. The longer they were on the island, the more anxious Jon was for the arrival of the Targaryen forces. He knew if they had been able to obtain the ships they needed, they should be on their way across the Narrow Sea now. Just as a precaution, he made sure to bathe thoroughly each night as he didn’t want to greet the queen and her advisors looking as if he had just come out of the dragonglass mines.

  
No one from Meereen even knew they were there in fact, as Varys had left before Jon had received the scroll from Sam. He hoped since he had met Varys and already knew Tyrion and the Greyjoys, that the Dragonstone crew would be greeted kindly. He had worked tirelessly the last few months to obtain allies for Daenerys so he hoped that would be the case.

  
Jon’s last letter to Sansa had explained everything they had discussed in Dorne: the ships to Meereen; the Dornish headed for Eastwatch; the plot to wait until the Lannister forces had left the Riverlands to move in; the discovery of dragonglass on Dragonstone. He had hoped since they had brought a maester along and since they had got the rookery up and functioning again that Sansa would write back, but Jon had yet to hear from her since his arrival on the island. It unsettled him some but he also knew with winter now upon them, they would be very busy in preparation for the cold.

  
They had been on Dragonstone two months when Jon finally got word from one of the scouts that dozens of black sails could be seen on the horizon. It was mid-morning and he and Davos were still finishing up their meal before starting the day’s work. But upon hearing the news, both men rushed out to the cliffs, Ghost trailing closely behind, to inspect for themselves. There were, indeed, dozens of ships with black and red sails headed their way, but that’s not why Jon suddenly felt all the air leave his lungs. Just above the ships, flapping their great spanning wings and getting ever closer, were three enormous _dragons_.

 

Jon stood motionless watching these glorious mythical beasts, creatures he had only ever heard of from stories and never dreamed would see in the flesh. But as Jon watched and his shock of first laying eyes on them wore off, he noticed the dragons were flying much faster than the ships were sailing. “Might we get off this cliff now?” Davos nearly shouted so his voice wouldn’t get lost in the wind. Jon turned to him and out of the corner of his eye, saw Ghost sprinting back towards the castle. “He’s got the right of it. We best follow him before we become breakfast.”

  
 _Dragons_. As he and Davos ran back to the castle, Jon suddenly remembered flashes of his dreams from the past month and a half. Weirwood trees. Ghost. Obsidian daggers. _The queen_. And of course, the dragon. They were all in bits and pieces for some reason and once they were back safely within the walls of the castle, Jon felt like those pieces were significant somehow. He was here, on _Dragonstone_. Mining for _dragonglass_. Watching the flight of the world’s only three dragons. And preparing himself to meet the dragon queen. _Was some greater force at work here?_

  
Once he had changed into something more fitting to meet a queen, Jon started out of his bedchambers. Ghost however, remained on his bed, giving no indication he would ever leave it. “Come on, you’ll get to meet the queen. Come greet her with me,” Jon coaxed but Ghost was having none of it. Apparently dragons were where the direwolf drew the line. “Craven,” Jon muttered on his way out, praying he wouldn’t get roasted alive as he took the steps down from the castle to the beach where he knew their skiffs would land.

  
When Jon and Davos reached the beach, they watched as the first skiff arrived, though to Jon’s disappointment, it only held soldiers, none of whom spoke the common tongue. Luckily, one of the men Olenna had sent with them was fluent in High Valyrian and was able to translate. The soldiers landed first to inspect the island to ensure the safety of the queen. Jon had his comrade communicate that they were there at the request of Lady Olenna, now an ally to House Targaryen. He also mentioned Varys and Tyrion and the soldier nodded, he and his men turning to head back out to relay the message from this _Jon Snow_.

  
Once the skiff returned to the flagship, almost immediately it started its return, followed by several others. The queen was on her way. Waiting for them to reach the beach, Jon shifted nervously, transferring his weight from foot to foot. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. He had seen Robert Baratheon arrive at Winterfell. He had met Stannis Baratheon when he and his forces came to Castle Black. But somehow, thinking on them now, the Baratheon brothers seemed like imposters. Daenerys was the trueborn daughter of the last Targaryen king and the only one of her family left. She was _truly_ royalty.

  
As the boats got closer, Jon was finally able to make out the figures on each. One boat looked to contain the Dothraki, their furs and braids and stern expressions dead giveaways. Another seemed filled with the soldiers who had just been on the island. And yet another, the one getting ready to pull up to the beach this moment, was _hers_. Jon knew her instantly. The silver hair he had seen in his dreams. The violet eyes, though Daenerys’s were lighter than he imagined. Tyrion sat to her left, Varys behind him, and a woman he didn’t recognize sat to her right, with more soldiers - Jon assumed they were the Unsullied - in back of them rowing and bringing up the boat.

  
He watched as Daenerys’s eyes roved over the island and the castle but as they stopped and exited the boat, her gaze shifted and locked on Jon. She didn’t move, almost as if a deer in the woods that’s heard a hunter’s footsteps. Jon felt his heart thud as they looked at each other, unsure why she had fixated on him when there were many others on the beach to greet them. Eyes never leaving his, she bent slightly so her lips were closer to Tyrion’s ear and whispered something. Tyrion nodded and her expression softened then and she and her entourage approached. As she got closer and closer he began to notice every detail of her, the tiny freckles that spotted the pale skin along her nose, the natural blush of her cheeks, her prominent eyebrows, her full pink lips. Just as with the dragons on the cliff, Jon felt all the air leave his lungs.

  
The queen did not stop until she was a foot away from him and Jon wanted to take a step back, put distance between himself and this woman, but he couldn’t. He felt rooted to the spot as her eyes wandered over his features. Finally, her lips parted. “Jon Snow,” she greeted in a low voice.

  
For a moment, Jon wasn’t quite sure how to reply. Then the only words he could think of came tumbling out of his mouth. “Welcome home, Your Grace.”


	9. Daenerys's Return (8b)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people have wondered about Dany's perspective so here it is. I might throw in a few more of these throughout the story because I thought this was fun. Chapter 11 coming soon!

“So these...Boltons, who have Winterfell, they conspired with your father and...who else?” Daenerys asked Tyrion, trying to commit it all to memory. It was an exhausting list though and as it all had to do with lies and murder and war. Not the most pleasant of topics.

“The Freys. They hold the Twins and Riverrun.”

“And the Tullys?”

“His step-mother was a Tully so that’s the connection there.” Daenerys nodded. So Jon Snow was the son of Ned Stark - who was killed by Lannisters. His brother Robb and step-mother, Catelyn Tully were killed by the Freys and Boltons who conspired  _ with _ the Lannisters. And Snow’s sister was now apparently somewhere in the Vale because she had family there as well, also on her mother’s side.

“So his sister, Sansa, she’s really the key to the Riverlands and the Vale, isn’t she?” Dany clarified. 

“Indeed, it seems that way. But the Arryns have lost people at the hands of the Lannisters as well. Lysa wanted to have  _ me _ killed. Her son will be no great friend of Cersei’s. And if we can help the Blackfish take back Riverrun and defeat the Freys, the Tullys will be an important ally.” Dany nodded again and stifled a yawn. Missandei looked to her disapprovingly but said nothing. It was incredibly late. But they would be at Dragonstone in less than a week and she wanted to gather as much information as possible about her potential allies and this mysterious Jon Snow who was for some reason working so hard to see her to the Iron Throne.

“What’s he like?” Dany asked Tyrion suddenly. “His demeanor, his character?” She pictured someone who must have always had a smile on his face, someone charming who lit up any room he was in and drew people to him like a fly to honey. She figured he must have been very likeable if he had been able to gain the trust of the Dornish and the Tyrells. 

“Incredibly broody,” Tyrion said with a little laugh. 

“What?” Dany felt her face break into an inexplicable smile.

“I think it’s the bastard thing. Rarely saw him smile...except when he watched me piss of the top of The Wall.” Dany’s mouth dropped open in a very undignified way and when she realized it had happened, closed it quickly. “I think it just amused him,” Tyrion added. “But he’s got a good heart. When he first joined the Night’s Watch he started to teach his comrades sword technique so they wouldn’t embarrass themselves in drills. And of course he annoyingly doesn’t seem to realize how good looking he is.” Dany raised an eyebrow. She had got the hint from Yara Greyjoy that this Jon Snow was good looking but didn’t dare ask her about him. She had wondered at the time if perhaps Yara had a soft spot for Snow, given she put her neck out so much for him, convincing Dany he would be a good man to have at her side once she came to Westeros. Tyrion rolled his eyes. “Oh, you know, he’s got the dark curly hair, the pouty lips, the dark eyes. Very much a Stark. Takes a lot after his father. Though,” Tyrion chuckled again. “Much shorter.”

“He’s short?” Dany laughed as well. She had imagined some hulking, muscular, northern god. 

“Well, he’s taller than me. But then again, everyone is.” Dany shook her head and yawned again. It was really was much too late for her to still be awake. She knew Tyrion would probably stay up for many hours more, reading and drinking but she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. She bid Tyrion goodnight then and Missandei escorted her to her cabin. 

“How old is this Jon Snow, Your Grace?” she asked as they walked. 

“Um, I think Tyrion said he was of an age with me,” Dany answered. 

“So young and he was elected Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch,” Missandei noted. Dany had thought that too. And his brother had apparently been even younger when he was named King in the North by his bannermen during the War of the Five Kings. They were all young. And it seemed they were all forced to clean up the messes made by their parent’s generation. Dany yawned again. “Your Grace, isn’t the Night’s Watch...well, don’t they take their vows for life? How can Jon Snow no longer be a part of the Watch?”

“Lord Varys said he was released from his vows,” Dany told her, not thinking any more of it. He was campaigning for her, that was all that mattered. Missandei nodded and didn’t press further. They stopped outside her cabin door and suddenly Dany turned to Missandei. “Do you think I should trust him?” she asked. “I know Tyrion says he does but he only met him once years ago. My father killed his grandfather and uncle. Why do you think he wants to help me?”

“Lord Tyrion’s brother killed your father and you don’t hold him accountable for it,” Missandei pointed out without missing a beat. “As you shouldn’t. Perhaps this Jon Snow thinks of you the same way. As to why he’s chosen to actively see you to the throne, I can’t say, Your Grace. The Lannisters did do horrible things to his family so his hatred of Cersei might make sense. But if he’s as good hearted as Tyrion says he is, I don’t think he would side with you simply for vengeance against her.” Missandei paused as they both gathered their thoughts. “I suppose the only thing you can do is ask him when he arrives at Dragonstone.”

Dany nodded, knowing Missandei was right. She would just have to meet him first. “Goodnight my friend,” she told Missandei.

“Goodnight Your Grace.”

As Daenerys sat in bed and unbraided her hair, she thought of Westeros. All her childhood, Viserys had told her that was home. But even now, going back to it, to the place she was born, it didn’t feel like coming home. It felt just like traveling to every other place she had traveled to. Pentos. Braavos. Qarth. Yunkai. Meereen.  _ You’re a conqueror _ , Daario had told her. Was that all she would ever be? Would she be satisfied sitting the throne of her ancestors? She liked to believe that she would. She tried to think of the last time she was truly happy. But all she could picture as she fell asleep was a little house with a red door…

She was below the great pyramid of Meereen. The only light in the space was from the torch she carried and it only cast light a few feet in front of her. The rest was pitch black. But she knew she had to keep walking. Further into the catacombs. Suddenly she heard a low growling and stopped, the hairs standing up on the back of her neck. She set the torch down and saw the dim outline of a figure standing just beyond the light. Was it a dog? Dany sunk to her knees and held out her hand, hoping the creature would come forward and show itself. Bright red eyes found her and slowly came closer. It was drogon. Red and black. Thick black fur. He sniffed her hand and licked it and she scratched behind his ears, enjoying how soft he was. But drogon didn’t have fur. He had scales. And he was so much larger. This wasn’t a dragon. This was a wolf.  The wolf crouched low, hind quarters in the air, a playful stance. He gave her one last lick and then he was rushing into the dark again and Dany had no other choice but to chase after him. She ran through the dark, only able to follow the sounds of his paws against the stone floor of the pyramid. But as they ran, a small square of light shone in the distance, getting bigger the closer they got. A door. The wolf tore through it and Dany did the same, shielding her eyes as she did so against the blinding whiteness.  _ Snow _ . The only other time she had seen snow was in her vision at the House of the Undying in Qarth. She looked behind her for the door she had just left and there was nothing but a wall of ice.  _ The Wall _ , Dany thought, knowing what it was now. And if she was at The Wall, that must mean... _ And so fire meets ice _ , he said, walking to her out of the snowstorm. Dany’s heart pounded in her chest as he approached. It wasn’t Daario, she knew, but he looked a little like him. Dark hair. Dark eyes. He wrapped his arms around her and she pressed her mouth to his, eager to taste him.  _ Warm _ . He was warm like her. And his mouth, his tongue, his hands pulling up her skirts. She was unlacing his trousers and suddenly her back was against The Wall, he was picking her up by the hips and then he was inside her, thrusting wildly.  _ Wolf indeed _ . It was so carnal and quick but Dany didn’t care. She pulled away from his mouth and arched her back, coming apart at the seams. Afterward they lay in the snow, though she couldn’t feel the cold. He lay a hand to her belly and smiled.  _ Now you’re part wolf too, _ he told her. 

 

“Do you think it could be the Dornish? Or the Tyrells?” she was asking Tyrion as they waited for the small boat of Unsullied soldiers to come back. They hadn’t been on the island very long. A short conversation by the looks of it. But they hadn’t been harmed by the men gathered on the beach so that was a good sign. Tyrion said as much. 

“Do you think it could be...Jon Snow?” she asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Missandei smirk but she tried ignoring her.

“When I left for Dorne, his plan was to return to Oldtown. He has a friend training to become a maester there and they’ve apparently been researching everything from cures for greyscale to stories of  _ The Long Night _ ,” Varys informed her. Her heart thudded wildly at his words. He had been researching greyscale to help Jorah, her sweet old bear. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about this  _ Long Night _ and  _ White Walker _ business Varys had briefly mentioned but something shifted suddenly in Dany and she knew all her doubts of this Jon Snow should be put to rest. 

The skiff returned then and Grey Worm met with them briefly. “My Queen, it is Jon Snow.” Dany’s heart skipped a beat. She would finally get to meet him after hearing about him for months. She took a deep steadying breath as Grey Worm continued. “They say the Lady of Highgarden sent them. They are here to mine for...glass they say.”

“Mining for glass?” Daenerys asked. She turned to Tyrion and Varys but they looked just as confused as she was. She supposed they would find out once they got ashore. So without further lingering - Dany was eager to get off the ship after two months of sailing - they boarded skiffs and she finally made her way to the place she had come from. 

As they got closer and closer to the beach, Dany’s heart did a number in her chest. She had finally done it. This was Westeros. This was the place she was born. This island was the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, the island Aegon Targaryen plotted to take over the Seven Kingdoms, a place...for dragons.

Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion swooped over the castle, circling it, skimming over the cliffs, the water. She could tell by the way they flew around it that they were excited. She was too. As the boat gently bumped the sandy shore, the feeling seeped into her bones. This was a safe place. This was where she belonged. This was  _ home _ . 

And then she saw him. At least, it had to be him. The dark hair, though she couldn’t immediately tell the curls as he had it pulled back. He was a good few inches shorter than his comrade next to him. His face was indeed comely.  _ Pouty lips _ . Furrowed brow. But he certainly wasn’t brooding now. In fact, his expression looked just as excited and shocked as she felt. Hopeful, even. She bent down to whisper to Tyrion. “That’s him, isn’t it?” she inclined her head to the man in question. Tyrion nodded. 

As she walked across the beach, she tried not to smile too widely. He didn’t know her. He had heard of her from others, just as she had about him. But she couldn’t let him know just how much she already liked him. He needed to believe he had to earn her trust, even if she already wanted to give it to him freely. As she got closer, his expression became more uneasy but she had to close the distance. She had to be right in front of him. And for a moment, as they stood staring at each other, she wasn’t quite sure what to say. The words stuck in her throat. Did she tell him  _ thank you _ , did she simply say  _ greetings _ , did she wait for him to speak?

In the end, she let out the only words she wanted to feel on her tongue and she couldn’t help her voice from it’s near whisper. “ _ Jon Snow _ ,” she let out. She liked feeling his name in her mouth and liked too the way his eyes softened when she said it. 

Then he replied with the words she had only ever dreamed of anyone saying to her, in that warm, northern drawl of his. “ _ Welcome home, Your Grace _ .”

 


	10. The War Council

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had the end of this chapter planned since I started writing this fic. Hope you guys like!

Jon took a steadying breath before he raised his fist to knock on the door to the queen’s private chambers. His heart hammered, just as it had on the beach when she approached him. She had singled him out then and she was singling him out now, inviting him to sup with her alone so that he might catch her up on all that had been happening in Westeros these last few months. 

He expected her to call to him to come in. Even an  _ enter _ would have sufficed. He did not expect, however, for the door to suddenly swing open and for her to be standing before him, looking, if possible, even more radiant than she had down on the beach. It was all Jon could do to remember to keep breathing and even still, he felt his breaths were embarrassingly too loud and laborious for the situation. But if he wasn’t much mistaken, her chest seemed to rise and fall much more quickly than it should have been also.  _ Don’t stare at her chest! _ Jon’s eyes snapped to her face again which broke into a polite smile.

“Please come in Lord Snow.” Daenerys stood back and allowed him entry to her solar, a room he had been in many times before, in truth, in his attempts to make it look fit for a queen. But with that queen now in this room with him, it made him extra conscious of every surface of it. He hoped she found it suitable. As Lord Commander Mormont had once chided him, he wasn’t much of a steward. 

“Did you do this?” she asked pointing to a vase of flowers that sat on the writing desk in the room. Jon felt his cheeks grow hot.

“No, Your Grace, must have been one of my comrades.” It was half true. Jon hadn’t put the flowers in the room himself but upon getting confirmation of her eminent arrival, Jon had asked one of the servants to go down to Aegon’s Garden and pick a few of the wild roses that grew there. 

“Oh,” she got out. “Well, they are beautiful.”

“Indeed, Your Grace.” 

They smiled at each other for several awkward moments. Jon kept trying to think of things to say but then again she had invited him there so shouldn’t she have been the one to start the conversation?

“Shall we?” she asked pointing to the small table in the middle of the room laden with different dishes. Jon nodded grateful for the distraction.

“I didn’t know we had chickens on the island,” Jon commented as he tucked into his meal. 

“Mmm.” Daenerys set down her glass of wine. “We brought these with us. Although I’m sure there’s plenty of wildlife around the island.”

“We’ve mostly survived on fish. Haven’t really explored the island too much. Since we cleared all the rats out the kitchens though, the cooks have been able to--”

“Jon I didn’t ask you here to discuss food.” Jon swallowed. “Lord Snow, I’m sorry,” Daenerys corrected herself, her cheeks coloring slightly at having been so informal with him.

“No, it’s quite all right Your Grace. Jon is fine, if it please you,” he reassured her quickly. He quite liked the way she said his name.

“Thank you...Jon.” She regarded him a moment, as if carefully weighing the next words she was about to say to him. “I didn’t ask you here to discuss food.  _ And _ I didn’t ask you here to update me on the last few months since Lord Varys left Dorne.” Jon nodded, waiting for her to tell him her real motive. “I asked you here to tell me...well...everything.”

“Everything?” Jon clarified, not at all sure what she meant by that. Self-consciously, his hand went to the crescent shaped scar above his heart, his fingers meeting only leather, but he knew exactly where the mark was. 

“When I returned to Meereen after being held captive in Vaes Dothrak, three different parties, none of whom previously knew of the others, came to me with word of you. After the first, a red priestess from Asshai, Lord Tyrion told me he had accompanied you to The Wall.”

“He did, Your Grace.” 

“Lady Melisandre said you had been Lord Commander of Castle Black up until recently.”

“That is also true, Your Grace.” Daenerys nodded and he wondered if Melisandre had told her of the moment she brought him back from the dead. He didn’t think she would, but he knew she must have told the queen something to make her want to meet him.

“Forgive me Lord Snow...Jon,” she corrected again. “I’m not familiar with the Night’s Watch but from what I gathered of Lord Tyrion’s explanation, Night’s Watch vows are very serious...for life, he said. How is it that you’re here but you...still have your head?” she finished. But Jon was ready for this question, thanks to Tyene.

“When Stannis Baratheon came north to Castle Black, I was lawfully released from my vows.” Jon’s hands sweated. He hated purposefully being deceitful. But, as he had to remind himself, it wasn’t entirely a lie. Had Stannis not come north and brought the red woman with him, he would be ashes now.  

Daenerys nodded, seemingly lost in thought. “I suppose that makes sense.” Another awkward pause and they both took the opportunity to take sips of their wine and bites of food. “So after you were released from your vows by the usurper's brother, you...just decided to start campaigning to put me on the Iron Throne?” she asked with a hint of humor in her voice, one of those prominent eyebrows raised.

“Not entirely, Your Grace.”

And so Jon launched into a slightly edited version of the story. Beginning with his leaving Castle Black, that first letter from Sansa, meeting the Greyjoys and Ser Jorah - “He’s all right?” she had asked. Jon could only tell her the truth. “His condition is declining but my friend Sam is working tirelessly to find him a cure.” She attempted to put on a brave face then but Jon could see her eyes brim with tears. He told her of Highgarden, Riverrun and the Vale, Dorne - carefully leaving out his brief affair with Tyene - and then Dragonstone for the dragonglass.

“Yes, one of my soldiers told us you were here for the dragonglass. That Lady Olenna Tyrell had sent you. Why is that?” This was always the hardest part. Jon said a silent prayer to the old gods, if they existed, that she would believe him. He had helped secure allies for her for goodness’ sake. She should believe him. 

“Your Grace, have you ever heard the legends of the White Walkers north of The Wall?” he began. With an apprehensive and curious look on her face, Daenerys slowly nodded her head. And so Jon launched into yet more of the story. The first two wights he had seen at Castle Black, how Ghost had sensed them and led him to Jorah’s father’s chambers, and how he burned one with a lantern. How Sam had found dragonglass at the Fist of the First Men and killed the White Walker that was after Gilly’s baby with it. Hardhome and the thousands upon thousands of lives of the free folk that had been doused in an instant by the silent onset of the chill. How the Night King had brought them all back as his mindless soldiers with a simple raise of his hands. Jon even told her about the Night’s Watch deserter his father had beheaded before he even left for The Wall, and how the man had been mumbling about White Walkers and no one believed him. 

After he finished, Daenerys sat silent for several minutes, fingers picking at scraps of food from her mostly empty plate, taking occasional sips of wine. Finally, the cloudy gaze dissipated from her eyes and she looked to Jon again, setting down her glass in an almost chess-like move. “Lord Tyrion tells me he trusts you,” she began. Jon held his breath while he waited for her to continue. “So I’m inclined to believe you’re telling me the truth. But I warn you Jon Snow, I’ve never been one to believe in myths and legends.”  _ Where was she going with this? _ Jon wondered. “I don’t even believe in any of the gods, really. Yet somehow, the red priests seem to think I’m some kind of deity of theirs reborn. That is...all except Lady Melisandre.” Jon’s eyes widened. “She seems to think we  _ both _ ...how did she put it... _ have roles to play _ ...in this Long Night and coming of the dawn.” Jon nodded again. He had heard Melisandre talk about this Azor Ahai and  _ prince who was promised _ . Really, it just made him laugh. He was no prince. He was a bastard. “Do you know why this Melisandre seems to think this prophecy refers to the both of us? To you, specifically?”

_ Shit _ . “Well,” Jon began, scrambling. “She thought it was Stannis before. Then believed it to be me. Now, according to you, she seems to think it’s both of us. To be honest, she hadn’t even told me who she was goin’ to meet when she left for Slaver’s Bay.”

“The Bay of Dragons,” Daenerys corrected proudly. Jon couldn’t help but smile.

“The Bay of Dragons,” Jon agreed, impressed. In truth he had no idea why Melisandre thought of him as this  _ prince who was promised. _ He had come back from the dead, that was all. But Daenerys...she had actually gone out into the world, travelled all over it, conquering, liberating, ruling. She had brought dragons back into the world when people believed them to be extinct for centuries. How could he ever compare to her? It felt silly that he was even sitting across from her in her private chambers, having this conversation.

“Well Jon,” Daenerys started again after a few moments. “Like I said, I’m inclined to believe you about this... _ army of the dead _ . And I cannot express to you how grateful I am at all the work you’ve done in the last several months to plan for my return to Westeros. I know Tyrion wasn’t even thinking of the Riverlands and the Vale and yet you seem to have secured them both for us before we even hit land.”

“Still need to take back the Riverlands from the Freys and the North from the Boltons but,” Jon paused when she smiled at him, momentarily stunned. “But...minor details.” 

“Minor details,” Daenerys said, her voice alight with a hint of laughter. “I have one final question for you Jon Snow and I want you to answer me honestly.”

“I will, Your Grace,” Jon told her sincerely. 

“Why me?” Jon’s brow furrowed without his meaning it to. The longer he stared at her, the more he realized she was asking him genuinely, as when he considered why Melisandre thought him this  _ prince who was promised _ . She really had no idea why he would help her or want to see her on the Iron Throne. She was just as self conscious and wary of making wrong steps as he was.

So Jon answered her in the most honest way possible. “Because...I believe in you.” Her brows knitted together and he thought he saw tears pool in her eyes again and she nodded. Thinking it was a dismissal and wanting to selfishly wanting to put distance between the two of them so he could breathe normally again, Jon got up to leave.

“Wait!” she called back. Jon turned back to her and was pleased to see a smile on her face. “I’m afraid I lied when I told you I had one final question for you.” Jon waved his hand inviting her to ask away. “Jon Snow, I would name you Lord Commander of the Targaryen military forces. If you’ll do it?” she asked, and she waited, seeming to hold her breath as Jon found his voice to finally respond.

“It would be my honor, Your Grace.”    
  


 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Daenerys said, holding out the piece of protective metal. “If you’re going to fight for House Targaryen, you’ve got to look the part.” Jon didn’t quite know what to say. The gorget was beautifully forged. The Targaryen sigil of the three-headed dragon was dead center, of course. But off to the sides, up by the buckles, there were identical snarling direwolves, turned facing the center of the piece. Taking it from her hands, accidentally brushing her fingers with his, he traced the direwolves on the sides. He didn’t know what to say. People never gave him gifts, save when Mormont bestowed on him Longclaw. That reminded Jon. Next time he saw Ser Jorah, he would have to give it back.

Wanting to show her how much he appreciated her gift, Jon immediately began wrapping it around his neck, above his leathers, trying to buckle it in place, though it was difficult as it was an incredibly awkward position. “Here, let me help you,” Daenerys laughed at his enthusiasm, taking the leather buckle out of his hand so she could fasten it in place. 

“Thank you,” Jon was able to get out, though his lungs were doing that thing again where they expelled all the air in his body and he couldn’t seem to provoke them into taking in more until Daenerys had fastened on the gorget and stepped away from him. “How do I look?”  _ Shit _ . He had meant to ask  _ How does  _ it  _ look _ , but his mouth had screwed up the question. 

Daenerys smiled anyway, admiring him in the armour she had had made for him. “You look perfect.” Jon was about to tell her  _ thank you _ again, not only for the gorget but for the compliment as well. But just as he opened his mouth, the door to the chamber opened and the rest of Daenerys’s small council poured into the war room -  _ The Chamber of the Painted Table _ , as it was called. Missandei - the former slave girl from Naath, Varys - the spider, Grey Worm - the commander of the Unsullied forces, Davos - Jon’s chosen second in command, and of course, Tyrion - all took their places around the painted table while a vicious storm raged on outside. Tyrion was first to speak.

“Strange to think, on a night like this, you came into the world,” he nodded to Daenerys. 

“I remember that storm,” Varys added thoughtfully. “All the dogs in King’s Landing howled through the night.”

“I wish I could remember it,” Daenerys told them both and Jon couldn’t help but catch the slight bite to her tone. He also couldn’t help sympathizing with her. That night Tyrion and Varys so tactfully had to remind her of had been the only night in her entire existence that she had spent in Westeros, since before her return. Her eyes sought his and he gave her an encouraging smile. “Not so many lions,” she commented, glancing back at the table, her lips quivering as if to hide something.

“We’re still waiting to hear word from my sister, Your Grace,” Jon answered, nodding to the Riverlands where two of the carved wooden figurines sat. “Once we get confirmation Jaime Lannister and his forces have left The Twins, that’s when we should strike. We’ll have not only the Tully army, but The Knights of the Vale at our back, as well as any we should choose to send in as reinforcements.”

“And is that what you think we should do?” Varys asked Jon, his tone skeptical. “Send in some of our forces to march clear across the country to take some little castle on the Green Fork?”

“The Twins lies at the very base of The Neck and is the last castle in the Riverlands before you reach the North. It’s an important piece of land to hold,” Jon shot back. Varys glared at him and seemed about to say something else when one of the servants entered, attention focused on the spider.

“Lord Varys, a moment,” he said. Jon’s gaze went to Daenerys who wore a similar questioning look on her face. 

“Please excuse me,” Varys said to the council. “I will be right back.” They all watched Varys’s retreating figure as he exited the chamber and it was several moments before Daenerys gathered her thoughts again to refocus on the task at hand.

“We have already secured the Reach and Dorne,” she began. “The Greyjoys are there now with the Dothraki and will return shortly with Lady Olenna and Lady Ellaria so we can begin planning the siege of King’s Landing. But I agree with you, Lord Snow,” she looked to him then and Jon tried not to smile too smugly. “The more of the country we can secure before that takes place, the better position we will be in. Lord Tyrion?”

“I agree with Snow too,” Tyrion inclined his head to Jon in acknowledgement. “With the Reach and the Riverlands, the Westerlands will be surrounded and won’t be able to march in to break a siege of the capital. Do we know how many men will be needed to take the Twins?” he asked Jon. But just as when Lady Olenna asked him, he still didn’t know.

“I haven’t heard from my sister since we came to Dragonstone,” Jon indicated himself and Davos. “The Knights of the Vale have already agreed to help take back the Riverlands but until I hear from Sansa, it’s unclear if what they have will be enough or if we’ll need to assist them.” Saying it all out loud, Jon felt anxiety begin to bloom in his chest. He had told Sansa where he was headed. They had sent and received ravens many since being on the island. But not getting from her worried him greatly. He wasn’t even sure if she was still in the Eyrie or had traveled elsewhere.

“Well,” Tyrion began Varys reentered the room. “We’ll just have to send your sister a raven and ask what they’ll need to take the Riverlands.”But a somewhat flustered looking Varys was already shaking his head before Tyrion had even finished speaking. 

“What is, Lord Varys?” Daenerys asked. Instead of replying, Varys simply handed her a sealed scroll that looked to be from The Twins. Daenerys read out loud.

_ Queen Daenerys, I cannot express my gratitude for what you have done for me and for my family. While I hold The Twins, my uncle Brynden holds Riverrun. The Riverlands are yours. Ever your loyal subject, Edmure Tully. _

“What’s happened Varys?” Daenerys asked, and the anxiety that had taken root in Jon’s chest suddenly expanded exponentially. What had happened and where in the world was Sansa? Varys shot Jon yet another suspicious look before he dove into his explanation, his little birds having delivered much more detail than Edmure’s scroll.

“A faceless man from Braavos apparently murdered Walder Frey and used his likeness to lure the rest of the Frey men to a feast where they were all poisoned.”

“House Frey is--” Tyrion began but Varys interrupted him to continue.

“Since the assassin was Essosi, Edmure seems to think we were the ones who sent her.”

“Her?” Daenerys choked. Jon was panting now, his leathers and bindings suddenly feeling constricting and way too heavy. Where. Was. Sansa.

“Yes. She left the Frey women alive and commanded them to free Edmure. Evidently, as this assassin left the scene of the massacre, she told Walder Frey’s wife that the north remembered and that winter had come for house Frey.” Everyone in the room gasped and suddenly all eyes were on Jon. Who was this woman assassin, killing Freys in the name of the North? Jon’s heart pounded as Varys approached him. “This also came for you, my lord.” Jon looked down. It was a sealed scroll but there was no indication of where it came from.

“What does it say?” Daenerys demanded. With shaking hands, Jon opened the scroll to a familiar hand.  _ No _ ...it couldn’t be. She was dead. No one had heard from her in years. But the longer Jon stared at the words, the way they were phrased, the references they made that only he would understand, the more he couldn’t deny the truth hidden behind them. He knew exactly who Sansa’s cryptic note referred to. And while he was immensely glad they were both alive, he knew there was no way he could reveal her identity, at least not to everyone in the room.

“Who is it from? What’s it about?” Tyrion asked as Jon’s silence stretched on an unusual amount of time.

“I...it’s just...words. They don’t make any sense. And it doesn’t say who it’s from,” Jon said listlessly, still in shock, trying to imagine her doing...no. It was such a violent thing. But he knew it was her. It could be no one else. 

“Read it allowed,” Daenerys commanded, though her voice was still high and shaky from the shocking news of the Freys. Jon sighed, praying they wouldn’t be able to figure it out. He took a deep steadying breath and read.

_ Princess Nymeria spotted knocking down mirroring towers with the pointy end of a needle. _

Arya.


	11. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super bad at coming up with chapter titles. But anyway, hopefully this chapter will clear a few things up about a certain lady from the Iron Islands!

_ Jon, I’m sorry for not writing you sooner. Things here have been hectic and very confusing but I can’t say that’s a bad thing. I’m not sure if you’ve heard but House Frey has been massacred by some faceless assassin. My uncle Edmure Tully now holds the Twins while my uncle Brynden holds Riverrun again. Edmure says he’s pledged the Riverlands for House Targaryen. There’s been talk of marching on Winterfell but I told my uncles it best to confer with you first. Send your next correspondence to Riverrun. I love you and miss you and hope you are safe. Your sister, Sansa. _

 

_ Good _ , Jon thought. She wasn’t careless enough to hint at Arya in a signed message. He, however, was greatly beginning to regret his own carelessness. 

It was the most awkward small council meeting Jon had attended thus far since Daenerys’s arrival at Dragonstone. Olenna had arrived on the island first, which was perfectly all right with Jon. Seeing her again, he realized he had missed the sharp witted old woman. Next to arrive at Dragonstone was Edmure Tully, there to pledge fealty in person to Daenerys. At Edmure’s arrival, Jon finally got a little bit more information on what happened at the Twins. “I know it was your sister,” Edmure had told him quietly as Jon had escorted him up to the castle. “She and Sansa are safely in Riverrun with our uncle Brynden. Though to be fair, Arya doesn’t seem like she needs much protecting.” Jon had given him a tight smile at that as he wasn’t quite sure how to react otherwise. “But we’ll keep this between us. You have my word. That’s why I sent the raven to the queen. She’s my niece. I don’t want her going around with a target on her back.” The next guest to arrive, no one but Varys seemed pleased about receiving, Lord Protector of the Vale, Petyr Baelish, who was there in the stead of his step son, Robin Arryn. And finally, the guests who had Jon’s stomach tumbling in shame and anxiety, the Greyjoys and Ellaria Sand. Both Yara and Ellaria had smirked at Jon when they arrived leaving little to the imagination as to what they might have talked about on the week long voyage from Sunspear to Dragonstone.  _ Shit _ . But that would have to be a matter settled at a different time. The meeting required Jon’s full attention. 

“If you want the Iron Throne, take it,” Yara was saying to Daenerys. “We have an army, a fleet, and three dragons. We should hit King’s Landing now. Hard. With everything we have. The city will fall within a day.”

“We turn the dragons loose, tens of thousands will die in the firestorms,” Tyrion pointed out and Jon couldn’t help but agree. The people of King's Landing were innocent. They just happened to live in the same city as someone who wasn’t. 

“It’s called war,” Ellaria told Tyrion stubbornly. “If you don’t have the stomach for it, scurry back into hiding—”

“I know how you wage war,” Tyrion fired back, anger clear in his voice. “We don’t poison little girls here.” Jon furrowed his brow and immediately looked to Daenerys who seemed confused as well. “Marcella was innocent,” Tyrion added after a moment, trying to reign in his emotions. Ellaria opened her mouth but didn’t reply right away, as if she wasn’t quite sure how to respond. 

“She was a Lannister,” she said finally. “There are no innocent Lannisters. My greatest regret, is that Oberyn died fighting for you--”

“That’s enough,” Jon cut in, surprising both himself and Ellaria. But when he noticed Daenerys give him a small nod of gratitude, he knew it was worth it. He was her military commander after all. 

“Lord Tyrion is Hand of the Queen, you will treat him with respect,” she added. Tyrion gave the queen a tight but grateful smile. “I am not here to be queen of the ashes.”

“That’s very nice to hear,” Lady Olenna commented and Jon had a feeling the Lady of Highgarden was about to turn into the Queen of Thorns. “Of course I can’t remember a queen who was better loved than my granddaughter. The common people loved her. The nobles loved her. And what is left of her now? Ashes. Commoners, nobles, they’re all just children really. They won’t obey you, unless they fear you.”  _ And there she is _ , Jon thought. He had warned Daenerys of Olenna’s sharp tongued tendencies but it really was something one couldn’t completely comprehend until it was experienced in person.

But for all her graces, Daenerys held her own as she replied. “I’m grateful to you, Lady Olenna, for your council. I’m grateful to all of you. But you have chosen to follow me. I will not attack King’s Landing.  _ We _ will not attack King’s Landing,” Daenerys emphasizes.

“Then how do you mean to take the Iron Throne?” Olenna shot back. “By asking nicely?”

“Seems to me, Your Grace,” Lord Baelish cut in, “that attacking the capital is of little importance now that the majority of the country supports your claim to the throne.”

“Yes but while Cersei still  _ sits _ the Iron Throne,” Edmure countered, “we are all vulnerable. Until Cersei is defeated and you actually climb those steps and sit the throne yourself, there will still be many who won’t consider you the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” A murmur of agreement went around the entire room.  _ If they all stopped interrupting and asking questions _ , Jon thought,  _ Tyrion could get around to telling them of the plan _ .

“We also gave several territories on the map that are still held by enemy forces,” Olenna said. “The Boltons still hold the North. Storm’s End is loyal to the crown. Westerlands have always been held by Lannisters. And of course there’s the issue of your uncle and his portion of the Iron Fleet,” she nodded to Yara and Theon. 

“Lady Olenna is right,” Tyrion voiced.  _ Finally _ . “However, Storm’s End will yield when we take the capital. They don’t have much of an army left since the War of the Five Kings, so they’re no great threat. Northerners have never fared well when they march south.” Tyrion gave Jon a small apologetic wink. “And with winter here, I doubt the Boltons will be able to persuade the rest of the lords of the North to come down to fight for House Lannister. So we can worry about that later. What we need to focus on is securing Casterly Rock. The seat of House Lannister.” 

“There’s no way Cersei would march on the Eyrie,” Ellaria commented, pointing to the falcon carving that represented House Arryn. “It’s too formidable a fortress.” 

“So you would suggest using only the Knights of the Vale to go and take Casterly Rock?” Lord Baelish shot back at her, clearly offended.

“Not exactly,” Jon told him. He then looked to Tyrion to start what they had discussed and prayed no one else interrupted. They had mapped out a plan of attack that seemed incredibly sound to Jon and still did, even in the overcrowded war room with so many people’s differing opinions and priorities. 

“Giving each army a different task will only create discord between us all. Yes, we have the numbers. But if Cersei can divide us, we’ve lost,” Tyrion stated. 

“Which is why,” Jon continued for him, “we’ll use the forces from the Riverlands and the Unsullied to take Casterly Rock.” At this, Baelish seemed to relax just the slightest. “Meanwhile, the forces from the Vale, the Dornish, half the forces from the Reach, and a portion of the Dothraki will lay siege to King’s Landing.”

“Cersei will have the Iron Throne but no food for her army or the people,” Daenerys explained. “And of course, with Casterly Rock under attack, she won’t have anywhere to retreat to.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Baelish cut in once again, looking to Daenerys disapprovingly. “But why would you only use half the forces from the Reach and your Dothraki to lay siege to the capital when you’re asking for the entirety of the fighting forces from the rest of us?” He gestured to the room at large. 

“Because,” Jon began, irritated. “The Reach is too valuable. We can’t afford to leave it unprotected. With winter here, the harvest from the Reach will be of vital importance to the survival of the entire realm. We have to protect it at all costs, which is why the Dothraki are already there.” Jon was pleased to see Baelish had no reply ready at his words. Lady Olenna smirked with approval.

Tyrion nodded in agreement with Jon, picking up the figurine of the spear-pierced sun, representing the Dornish forces and moved it from Dorne on the map to King’s Landing, next to the Tyrell rose and Arryn falcon. He looked to Ellaria. “While the Vale, the Dothraki and the Reach will march on the capital from the north and the west, Lady Greyjoy will escort you home to Sunspear. Her Iron Fleet will ferry the Dornish army back up to King’s Landing and the Dornish will lay siege to the capital from the east. Four great kingdoms united against Cersei.” 

The members of the war council all sat in silence, looking at the table, taking in the plan. Jon’s heart thudded slightly quicker in his chest. The majority of the plan had been his idea, with a little input from Tyrion. He hoped the rest of the council would agree with him. Mercifully, slowly, he noticed Yara, Edmure and Ellaria begin to nod.

“Do I have your support?” Daenerys asked. 

“You have mine,” Yara replied almost at once. 

“Dorne is with you, Your Grace,” Ellaria agreed. 

With lips pursed, Lord Baelish nodded solemnly. Jon wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He knew from conversations with Tyrion, that Baelish had a reputation for putting his own interests above those he served. He would have to make a point of writing to Sansa about this plan so she could see it through if he didn’t. Baelish might have been Lord Protector of the Vale, but he was no direct relation to the true Warden of the East, Robin Arryn. Sansa was.

“The Riverlands are yours to command, Your Grace,” Edmure said enthusiastically. Jon and Daenerys looked to Olenna. The old woman gave Jon a proud, approving smile before giving the queen a single supportive nod.

“Thank you all,” Daenerys concluded the meeting and Jon sighed in relief. Though he felt he came off in good light at the meeting, he wanted to leave the room as quickly as possible so as to avoid Ellaria and Yara. As he exited with Edmure, he heard Daenerys ask Olenna for a private word.  

“Lord Snow, take me to this dragonglass cave everyone keeps telling me about,” Edmure requested and Jon was only too happy to oblige. As the men walked down the long stone stairway to the beach, Edmure finally went into explicit detail of what had taken place at the Twins and how Arya was involved in it all.

“She told me she first met a faceless man when she was on her way back to Winterfell after your father’s death. She was disguised as a boy, traveling with the Night’s Watch. Somehow she saved the faceless man and two others from death and the Braavosi granted her three lives in return.”

“Lives?” Jon asked, already feeling uneasy with the story. He had been the one to give Arya  _ Needle _ . If she had become some sort of vicious assassin, he knew a part of it was his fault.

“People he would kill for her.” Jon swallowed hard. His little sister. “They were taken captive and held at Harrenhal and she named two men who had been torturing prisoners. Instead of naming a third man, she asked him to help her and two friends escape, so he did. When they parted ways, the man gave her a coin made of iron - a sort of...invitation...if she ever chose to join the faceless men. She attempted to get back to your brother Robb and Cat, but after they were killed, and then Lysa in the Eyrie, she sought passage to Braavos.”

Jon’s mind was reeling. Arya. All alone in the world. Traveling to an entirely different country by herself. He could only imagine how hopeless she must have felt to go so far away from home. Edmure continued.

“She wouldn’t tell me all that had gone on during her training as a faceless man. But I know she was there for at least a year, maybe longer. When she was commanded to kill an actress that was in town, traveling with some performance group, she decided to come back home. She told me she only wanted to kill people who deserved it.” Arya a killer. Jon’s stomach twisted, riddled with guilt. Arya always had been fascinated with archery, swordplay. Would she have wound up on this path just the same had he not encouraged her?

“So Walder Frey?” Jon asked as they finally reached the beach and he led Edmure across to the cave. He wanted to get this story over with.

“It was right after the Lannisters left the Riverlands. She had killed two of Walder’s sons beforehand and--” Edmure stopped himself and looked over at Jon uneasily. He had already told him of so many horrible things.  _ How much worse could it get _ , Jon wondered. 

“Go on, Lord Edmure,” he permitted solemnly. 

“She...baked the sons into a pie and served it to Frey. She killed Walder then and there and then...took his face. She didn’t tell me how it worked. Sounded like some kind of dark magic to me. She became Frey for a fortnight, invited all the known Frey men back to the Twins for a supposed feast, and there killed the lot of them with poisoned wine.” As Edmure finished the horrifying tale, Jon had to remind himself to breathe. And he also had to remind himself those were the men who had slaughtered his brother and bannermen. She was only seeking justice. Very violent justice. But it was not unwarranted. 

“When she freed me, I didn’t know who she was. I asked her if my uncle and niece had sent her and that was when she finally told me her name. She had no idea Sansa was so close in the Eyrie. I’m glad they’ve reunited. Though it was all I could do to talk her into staying at Riverrun when she learned I was on my way here. She misses you terribly.” At this, Jon couldn’t help but smile as he picked up a lit torch at the mouth of the cave and led Edmure inside. He missed Arya too. And knowing that now she and Sansa were together and safe gave Jon hope that they could all be together again soon.

“Well,” Jon started as the passed through the narrow walkway that led to the main part of the cave. “This is it. Dragonglass.” Edmure walked about the cavern, fingers gliding across the unmined bits of glass. 

“So you really believe all this then? About the White Walkers, I mean?” Edmure asked. Jon sighed. If he had a gold dragon for every time someone asked him that, he’d be rich as a Lannister by now.    

“I’ve seen them, Edmure,” he told the man seriously. “And trust me, you don’t want to.” The Riverland lord nodded absentmindedly, still seemingly mesmerized by the glass. 

“The Wall won’t hold them out, will it?” he asked, to Jon’s surprise. Jon shook his head. “After you take Winterfell, do you plan on gathering all the fighting forces there?” he added. 

“We haven’t really thought that far ahead,” Jon told him honestly. So far as the North went, that was the safest place to be in case of attack. It would make a lot of sense if they did it that way. But the look on Edmure’s face told Jon he had other ideas.

“Just as northerners don’t fare well in the south, southern armies don’t fare well in the north, Snow. How many in this army of the dead?” he asked.

“A hundred thousand, at least,” Jon answered. Edmure scratched at the scruff on his chin, deep in thought.

“I wouldn’t blame you for trying to hold your home. But if this army does breach The Wall, no northerner will be safe. A better position to be in would be south of The Neck,” he advised.

“You would have us abandon the entire north?” Jon accused, horrified. There was no way they could do that. There were too many lives at stake. 

“I’m just saying, if it came to that, don’t hesitate to make the tough decision. You need to have a contingency plan in place. After we take Winterfell...make sure all the lords of the North understand. Better to evacuate while they would still be able to rather than try to fight a losing battle.” 

Jon said nothing as they walked back out of the cave. He hated the idea of every northerner having to leave their homes, running away from this threat. But he also couldn’t get the images of Hardhome out of his head. All the people who had decided to stay because they didn’t trust him or just didn’t want to go. Now they would all be coming for him, like some vengeful ghosts to remind him of how he had failed. 

 

Later that evening, after a quiet dinner alone in his room, Jon was finally able to persuade Ghost to venture out of the castle. The Dragons appeared to be asleep out on one of the distant cliffs and didn’t seem as big a threat with their heads tucked under their wings, snoring. Jon and Ghost walked the castle, down and back from the beach, and finally to Aegon’s Garden, one of his favorite places. As the stars began to show themselves, Jon lay down on one of the stone benches and stared up at them, Ghost resting at his side. He didn’t know how long he was there, losing himself in his thoughts.  _ Evacuate the north _ . How would they even accomplish that? And what of the Night’s Watch? Tyene and her sisters and the Dornishmen were up at Eastwatch right now. Would they need to abandon their post as well?  _ Light the biggest fire the north has ever seen. _ Mance’s words floated in and out of his head.  _ What does this Night King want? _ Olenna had asked him. Was it just ultimate death and destruction he was after or was it something Jon had never thought of? Would Daenerys just be able to order her dragons to burn them all? Could the dragons even understand commands like that?  _ Burn all these dead men for us _ . It seemed silly. Could she fly the dragons?...Fly on them….Could she fly?...Were dragons...weirwood trees?...Was Jon a weirwood tree?...Was Jon a dragon?...His eyes drifted closed and his breathing became even and steady as he drifted somewhere on the outskirts of consciousness… 

It was Daenerys. Walking through a raging fire. She was completely naked and she beckoned him to come closer. She reached for his hand and told him not to be afraid. The flames wouldn’t hurt.  _ Fire cannot kill a dragon _ . They passed through the flames to the other side, the hot springs back at Winterfell.  _ A dragon lives below the ground and breathes fire,  _ she told him,  _ that’s what keeps the water and castle warm.  _ The both sunk into the pool and she embraced him, pushing him back onto a stone step and straddling him. Jon sought out her mouth with his and their tongues danced as she lowered herself onto him. He understood.  _ The dragon has three heads _ , he whispered and she nodded.  _ There must be one more _ . When he pulled back to look in her eyes, he saw his own reflection in them. His face was shadowed, light only bouncing over it from a torch nearby. But he could see his eyes. They weren’t his usual dark grey. They were blue, bright blue all the way around. And Daenerys’s too were turning blue. The springs around them were starting to freeze but all Jon could feel was her--

“ _ Ohhhhh!! _ ” Jon’s eyes snapped open at the sound of her petrified squeal. He was on his feet immediately and followed the sounds of heavy breathing behind a hedge where Ghost stood wagging his tail at a fear stricken Daenerys.

“What’s wrong?” he asked breathless, looking between her and the direwolf. She tilted her head in disbelief, gesturing to Ghost. “Ghost, back,” Jon commanded and the direwolf took several steps away from the queen who looked on in shock, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

“He’s  _ yours _ ?” she got out, to which Jon couldn’t help but smile.

“I wouldn’t say he’s mine,” Jon explained. “Companion more like.” Daenerys closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as if praying for patience. 

“How have I not seen him before?” she asked, trying to regain her queenly composure.

“I don’t think he’s too fond of your dragons.” She nodded stiffly, glaring at Ghost. But the more upset she looked, the more entertained Jon was by the situation. “You’re the mother of dragons. He’s a fraction the size o’ them,” he pointed out, his smile widening when her lips pursed.

“Yes well, I’ve had them since they were just eggs no bigger than your boots. And I haven’t had many good experiences with dogs...and he just...snuck up on me,” she accused.

“He’s not a dog. He’s a direwolf.” 

“I can see that,” she said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. To his credit Ghost simply sat back on his haunches and watched their exchange, tongue lolling as he breathed, almost as if he were smiling. Daenerys looked at Jon as if waiting for him to say or do something. “Well, are you going to introduce us?” she asked indignantly. 

Jon laughed and beckoned Ghost to him. “Come here,” he called to him. “Come here and meet the queen.” Daenerys stiffened as Ghost came nearer, her breathing shallow, her eyes searching Jon’s, confused.

“What should I…” she trailed off. 

“Here.” Jon reached for her hand and tried to ignore the way his pulse quickened at the contact. He held out her hand for Ghost to sniff. The direwolf took in Daenerys’s scent and looked to Jon then, a queer expression on his face...as if wolves could have facial expressions. Jon felt a strange tingle slip down his back looking at Ghost. It was almost like the wolf was trying to tell him something. Ghost sniffed Daenerys again, then turned and sniffed Jon’s hand that was not holding hers. Seemingly satisfied with something, the wolf sat back again and stared at the both of them.

“What’s his name? Ghost?” Jon nodded, reluctantly letting go of her hand. “How appropriate,” she said of the name and Daenerys pursed her lips, staring at the direwolf. He couldn’t help but laugh again.

“That’s exactly what Olenna said.” Daenerys stared at him a moment, looking somewhere between irritated and amused. “You can pet him if you like,” Jon told her. She gave him a nervous smile and reached forward, scratching Ghost lightly behind the ears. But though Ghost seemed to enjoy it, she pulled away quickly, as if afraid he might change his mind about liking her. 

“He won’t hurt you,” Jon tried to reassure her. “Well, not unless you try to hurt me,” he laughed. 

Daenerys rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”  _ Dreams _ . Her words triggered something in Jon.  _ Yes _ , he had fallen asleep briefly. And though Jon couldn’t remember the details of his dream, as per usual, he thought she might have been in it. “I didn’t know anyone would be out here so late,” Daenerys told him, beginning to walk around the garden. Jon followed her.

“I didn’t realize what time it was. I think I might have fallen asleep,” he confessed. 

Daenerys looked as if she were holding back a smile. “Commander Snow, I can’t have you falling asleep in gardens at odd hours of the night. It’s dangerous. Not to mention a little undignified.”

“Not Jon?” Jon couldn’t help but ask her. He liked when she said his name. She considered him a moment, weighing her words.

“I only mean to be respectful and acknowledge your title. You always say  _ your grace _ ,” she pointed out.

“Would you like me to call you something different?” he asked, curious. She stopped walking then and looked around the garden a bit before taking a seat on the bench Jon had been asleep on not moments before. He sat down next to her and Ghost walked up to rest his head in Jon’s lap.

“I suppose I hadn’t really thought of it.”

“Do you mind it when I say  _ your grace _ ?”  

“No,” she admitted. “I suppose I don’t.” 

“Then I’ll keep saying it,” Jon concluded simply. Absentmindedly, Daenerys reached over to pet Ghost again, her arm brushing up against Jon’s stomach as she did so, making him very aware of every breath he took.

“My brother used to call me Dany,” she said reminiscing.  _ The brother who sold her to the Dothraki for an army _ . He wondered how she felt about him all these years later. If she resented him, missed him, anything. “I named one of the dragons after him. Viserion. He’s the gold and cream. Viserys was...not strong. Not like your late brother, I’ve heard. Robb was his name?” Jon nodded, thinking of his brother...and how his sister had avenged him. “I thought perhaps Viserion, when I gave him that name, I thought he could be what my brother wasn’t. Be strong.” 

“What’d you name the other two?” Jon asked, hoping to distract her. 

“The green and bronze, that’s Rhaegal. He’s named after my other brother Rhaegar.” At the mention of the man who kidnapped and raped his aunt Lyanna, Jon said nothing. Whether Daenerys knew about any of that, he had no idea. But he certainly didn’t want to talk about their families’ complicated history now. 

“And the third?”

“Drogon,” she said simply, not offering any further explanation. Jon knew though, the name was for her late husband, Khal Drogo. 

“What did you and Olenna talk about?” he asked as yet another distraction. Though he had to admit, he was curious. Being around Olenna for several weeks, he got to know the old woman well and though he liked her quick wit, he was sure many others didn’t. But to Jon’s pleasant surprise, the queen smiled.

“She likes you,” Daenerys said and Jon felt his cheeks heat.

“What did she say?” he asked her, slightly paranoid. He knew Olenna wouldn’t spill the story of his scars but he wasn’t sure what else might slip out of her mouth instead.

“No, no, nothing, nothing for you to worry about,” Daenerys reassured him. “We talked about quite a few things actually. But she did say, out of everyone on Dragonstone, out of all my advisors and council, that you were the one I should trust the most.” Jon nodded and tried to look as if he wasn’t sure why she would say that. His hand moved up to his chest and he self consciously stroked the leather above where he knew that damned scar was. 

Daenerys looked about to say something else but Jon wanted to steer clear of any topic that might involve him having to explain his death, so he spoke first. “It’s very late, Your Grace. I think I’ll turn in. Might I walk you back to the castle?”

“Ohh.” Jon wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not, but if he had to guess, he thought she looked somewhat put out. “No, that’s quite alright Commander. I’ll be fine. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Your Grace.” 

As he retreated back to the castle, Ghost followed. Jon was tempted to look back to see if Daenerys was watching him leave, but he didn’t. He had to shake these thoughts of her, she was his queen. He was only her military commander and a bastard. Whatever strange under the surface feelings he may have felt bubbling each time he was in her presence, he needed to put a stop to now. Before he really got himself hurt.

Walking through the castle and back to his room, Jon was suddenly aware of how tired he was. It was no surprise he had fallen asleep back in the garden. They day had been filled with different tasks. Checking in on progress in the mines, the war council meeting, his talk with Edmure, coaxing Ghost out of the castle once and for all. He was very much ready to strip down and flop into bed when the one person he had been hoping to avoid rounded the corridor he wanted to turn down.

“Jon Snow,” Yara greeted and Jon immediately felt his palms begin to sweat.  _ Shit _ . 

“Lady Greyjoy,” Jon nodded, trying to look and sound as formal and yet dismissive as possible. 

“Walk me back to my room Lord Snow,” Yara commanded. Jon swallowed. He looked down at Ghost who stopped briefly, then continued on his way back to Jon’s quarters.  _ Traitor _ . “It’s late my lord, and I am unfamiliar with the castle. If you wouldn’t mind…?” She wrapped her hand in the crook of his arm so he would have no choice but to walk with her. 

As they walked, Jon weighed the situation in his head. No doubt Ellaria had told her about Tyene. They wouldn’t have been giving him those knowing looks since their arrival otherwise. The question was, was Yara upset with him? They hadn’t even slept together after all. And they had been incredibly drunk at the time. Or at least, he was. Did she feel he owed her something? Jon had got the distinct impression back in Oldtown that Yara wasn’t the kind of woman to have lasting commitments. He didn’t judge her for that but hoped she would extend him the same courtesy.  _ Back to her room _ .  _ Shit! _ What if she expected him to sleep with her  _ now _ ? While he liked Yara immensely and basically owed her everything that had happened to him the last few months because of her mentioning Daenerys, he didn’t want to bed her. He wanted to wait. Wait for...was he being an idiot?  _ You certainly can’t bed the queen! _

When they reached what Jon assumed was her chamber door, Yara stopped and disentangled herself from him. “Ohh quit your sweating Snow. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Yara, I--” Jon began but she held up a hand to stop him.

“You owe me nothing,” she told him as if she had read his thoughts on their walk through the castle. “And I can’t say I blame you for taking advantage of the... _ Dornish hospitality _ .” Jon pursed his lips, not wishing to confirm outloud what had taken place between him and Tyene. “You’re a good man Jon. You should give yourself a little credit. You’re not in the Night’s Watch anymore, remember? This is your new life now. Live it without guilt.” 

At her words, Jon couldn’t help but give her a shy smile.  _ Dornish hospitality _ . Perhaps he was too hard on himself. Did he not deserve to enjoy things as well as anyone else? Yara returned his smile and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. Jon let her, thinking that would be it. But once coming in contact with his skin, her lips trailed over to his and on instinct he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. 

Before they could get too carried away though, Yara pulled back, smirking. “I nearly forgot you tasted so good,” she commented. She leaned in and gave him a final peck on the lips. “Goodnight Jon.”

Jon sighed, embarrassed and irritatingly aroused. Even still, it wasn’t her bed he wanted to share. “Goodnight Yara.”

Yara opened the chamber door and to his horror, he saw Ellaria sitting naked on the bed. Jon turned away immediately but he couldn’t retreat fast enough to stop himself hearing Ellaria ask Yara, “Is he joining us?”  _ Gods! _ But Yara simply laughed, “I don’t think he could handle both of us,” and closed the door behind her.

 

The next morning, Jon was down at the beach with Ghost. There were no war council meetings that day and he had also given the men mining the dragonglass the day to themselves. The tide was low and Ghost was scouting the little pools for fish. The grounds were still a little cool and misty, the sky overcast as the sun hadn’t yet burnt off the cloud cover. But Jon enjoyed it. As he walked with Ghost, he couldn’t help but wonder just how long they would be staying on Dragonstone. Edmure, Baelish, Yara, Theon, Ellaria, and Olenna would all be leaving within the week. As would the Unsullied army. Once Cersei surrendered King’s Landing, there’d be no reason for them to stay on the island anymore. It wasn’t the capital after all. And then where would Jon go? He was Daenerys’s military commander. Would he accompany her to the Crownlands? Or would they plan the attack on Winterfell and he would head north to see it through? Even though the latter held the promise of going home again, somehow, Jon didn’t like the sound of that any more than going to King’s Landing. Dragonstone was growing on him and fast.

“Commander Snow.” Jon turned to see Daenerys marching across the beach toward him, fists clenched at her sides. He couldn’t be certain but he thought her voice might have sounded a bit harsher than it usually did when she addressed him. Or perhaps she was just trying to make herself heard over the crashing waves.

“Your Grace--” Jon attempted to greet her but she cut him off and held up a scroll.

“This came for you.” She looked irritated with him for some reason and he had no idea why. Could it have been because he left her in the gardens the night before and she hadn’t wanted him to leave? 

“Thank you. You didn’t have to bring this all the way down here yourself, surely,” he commented, taking the scroll from her hands and unrolling it without looking at it.

“No, I didn’t. But I have something I’d like to speak with you about as well.” He stared at her, eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Read your scroll,” she commanded, anger seeping into her voice. 

Not wanting to irritate her further, Jon looked down...and his face fell.  _ No _ . 

“ _ No _ ,” he breathed, unaware the word had left his mouth.

“What is it?” Daenerys asked irritated. He looked up at her, confusion and pain writ across his face. “What is it?” she asked again, seemingly startled by his expression. Wordlessly, Jon handed her the newest news from Sansa. “ _ Oh no _ ,” Daenerys got out. She had heard, no doubt from Tyrion, all about his family, their names. And of course, she knew who held the North. She looked up at him, her chest heaving just as heavily as his was. 

Jon took the scroll back from her, his throat tight, not knowing what to do. How could three little words be so cruel?

 

_ Ramsay has Rickon _ .


	12. The Dragon Has Three Heads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long one. That's why it took me a few days to get it out. Jon and Daenerys finally visit the dragon glass cave together and things get...interesting.

_ Jon, I hope this one finally reaches you. After Sansa left for the Riverlands, we got word from Winterfell about your brother, Rickon. We didn’t know where to reach you or Sansa and every raven we sent out went unreplied. The Umbers have declared for House Bolton - they’re not to happy with you for letting the wildlings through. Karstarks as well. One of Tormund’s scouts says they’ve got about five to six thousand men. To keep them safe, we’ve sent most of the wildlings to a few of the abandoned castles along The Wall. But you know as well as I do, we don’t have nearly enough men if the Boltons were to march north. Even with the Dornish at Eastwatch. We need help. Lord Commander Tollett.  _

_ PS - A broken wolf that strayed beyond The Wall has returned. We’ll make sure he finds his pack.  _

 

“Broken wolf?” Tyrion asked in shock. “Your brother Bran?” Jon nodded solemnly. After Sam told him of Bran going beyond The Wall, Jon thought him lost forever. Now Bran was alive. Bran was safe. But Rickon…

“What’s he mean he returned from beyond The Wall?” Yara asked. 

“My brother in the Night’s Watch, Sam Tarly, he let Bran and a few companions through The Wall years ago when I was a captive of the free folk.”

“Why?” Daenerys asked thoroughly confused and horrified. “Why would a young boy without the use of his legs want to go to the most dangerous place in the world?” 

“He didn’t say. He only told Sam he had to. That it had to do with the walkers.” Jon looked at the raised wood on the  _ Painted Table _ that represented The Wall and ran a finger along it. The few times he had been beyond, he had barely come back with his life. How in seven hells had Bran done so being unable to walk? “I’ve gained one brother back and lost another.” Jon didn’t know this Ramsay Bolton, but he knew what his father had done to the Starks. And he knew Ramsay was someone Sansa felt she needed to escape from, though they had apparently been married. Now the bastard held his youngest brother captive and Jon was at a loss for what to do. He looked then, to the only other person in the room he knew would know exactly what he was feeling.  

“What’s he going to do to him?” he asked Yara, his voice raw. Yara immediately turned to Theon who looked panic stricken. Theon had been Ramsay’s prisoner once. And Jon knew some of what had happened to him. But he knew there must have been more. 

“Rickon is your father’s last trueborn son, that he knows of,” Yara began and Jon knew he wasn’t going to like or believe whatever she would say next. She was going to try to comfort him and he didn’t want to hear it. He ground his teeth together preparing for the lie. “He’s an incredibly valuable hostage. I’m sure he’ll treat him...gently.” 

“Did he treat you gently?” Jon shot to Theon this time, hoping to get a straight answer. But Theon could only open and close his mouth, at a loss for what to say and probably, trying to keep at bay images of the horrible things this Ramsay bastard had put him through. If that wasn’t answer enough to his question, Jon didn’t know what was. His stomach twisted with worry.

“Theon wasn’t of the North. Rickon is. And Ramsay didn’t hurt your sister,” Yara pointed out but Theon snapped his head in her direction. “Much,” she added in concession. Jon closed his eyes then, trying to block them all out. He thought they were all dead. No one had seen or heard from any of them in years. Then Sansa turns up at Castle Black. Then Arya in the Riverlands. Bran at The Wall. And Rickon. Poor Rickon was home but it wasn’t his home anymore, not the one he had left anyway. And Jon could do nothing. Just as when he was in the Night’s Watch and he knew what had happened to his father, his brother Robb. He couldn’t have left to avenge them. Now, Daenerys’s military commander...he had a job to do. His duty. The plan had already been set into place. Winterfell was to wait.  _ And even if or when we did march North, what would stop this Ramsay bastard from killing Rickon while we were en route? _ A warm hand gripped his arm and he opened his eyes to see Yara giving him an encouraging look.

“We’ll get him back in one piece,” she told him quietly. When Jon nodded her hand slipped from his arm but she stayed close, as if to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid.

“You say he has five to six thousand men?” Daenerys asked, her eyes trailing between Jon and Yara. Jon handed her the scroll from Edd and nodded. “While the siege of the capital and Casterly Rock take place, we can go north. We can send some of the Dothraki that were to stay in the Reach. We’ll both go. And maybe Drogon. Whatever we need to do. We will make this Ramsay Bolton pay for thinking he could keep your brother hostage.” Jon appreciated the conviction in her voice but he knew it would never work.

“We can’t burn down Winterfell,” he told her, thinking of the dragons. “And we can’t spare any of the Dothraki that we’ve got in the Reach. When the real cold comes, we’re going to need every bit of the harvest because we don’t know how long this winter will last. We have to secure King’s Landing and the Rock first,” Jon concluded solemnly. Tyrion was nodding along to Jon’s words but Daenerys looked like she still wanted to try to find a plan to save his brother. 

“The sooner we take the Rock and the capital, the sooner we can march North for Winterfell,” Tyrion said after a moment. Jon, Yara, and Edmure nodded in agreement. 

“I’ll leave with the Unsullied tomorrow,” Edmure offered. It was what they had planned anyway. They needed to keep to the plan.

“And us?” Ellaria motioned to Yara and herself.

Jon looked at the map again. “We want to hit the Rock and the capital at the same time. You,” he motioned to Edmure, “won’t get to the Rock for a month at the least. So I think you two,” he motioned to Yara and Ellaria, “should travel to Sunspear via Pentos.”

“Pentos?” Yara asked, her eyebrows shooting up. But it was Daenerys then who nodded at Jon’s words and explained.

“We don’t know where your uncle’s fleet is. Better to sail along the Essosi coast than risk running into him.”

“The extra travel time,” Jon went on, “will put you in Sunspear around the time the Unsullied round the west coast. When you come back, you should both hit the Rock and King’s Landing at the same time.”

“Lady Olenna,” Tyrion addressed her and she looked up from the map. “You’ll take a merchant ship back to Highgarden so Cersei is none the wiser and then the Dothraki and Tyrell forces will march on the capital as soon as you get home.” Olenna nodded again, saying nothing. She had been uncharacteristically quiet since Jon revealed the news about Rickon’s capture. 

“And me, my lord?” Baelish asked, looking to Jon. “Any special travel plans for me or am I free to leave the way I came?” Jon fought hard not to let his eyes wander to the ceiling. 

“You’re fine, Lord Baelish. Just make sure the Knight’s of the Vale are ready to march on the capital in a month’s time.” The meeting concluded.

 

“Thought I might find you here Snow,” Jon heard Lady Olenna call. He and Ghost lifted up their heads. He was in the garden again, feeling too in his head to make his daily trip down to the mines just yet. He always got strange thoughts in the mines too and and now wasn’t the time to have his mind filled with superfluous nonsense. “Hello handsome,” Olenna greeted Ghost in turn and gave him a pat on the head. As dark as his thoughts were at the moment, it still amused him how Ghost was called handsome nearly as often as he was. 

Jon sat up on the bench he had been resting on. “How have you been, my lady?”

“Walk with me, my dear,” she commanded so Jon got to his feet and she took his arm. Though it had rained on the island earlier that morning, the sun was out now in full force, making the plants and flowers of the garden look brighter, more colorful than usual. “I’m sorry to hear about your brother,” Olenna told him after a while of them walking in silence. Jon nodded. So was everyone else. But their sympathies weren’t going to bring Rickon to safety. 

“I’m going to tell you something Snow and you’re not going to like it. But I’m going to tell you anyway because it’s what you need to hear and I doubt the rest of this lot will pay you the same courtesy.” They stopped walking and he looked to her, bracing himself for whatever truth she was about to bestow upon him. “Men like this Ramsay Bolton, his father...women like Cersei Lannister...people are nothing to them. They’re expendable. My son was. My grandson was. My granddaughter. Your father and brother. They’re like toys to play with. That’s what Greyjoy was to this Ramsay. And your sister. Toys. And if you try to take away their toys, you better believe they would rather see them broken than let you have them.”

Jon inhaled sharply through his nose, knowing what she said was right but he still didn’t like the idea of it. Rickon, a toy for this bastard Ramsay. What had he done to Theon that made him cower at the mere mention of his name? Would he do the same to his brother? Worse?

“You know what’s coming for us Snow. Beyond The Wall. You know better than any of us.” She took one of his hand in both of hers and clutched it tightly. “You and that girl. I know you’ve got some lofty ideas about fighting on the moral high ground. Not using the dragons. Blockade of the city instead of openly fighting. I understand. You don’t want the people to think you monsters.” At this she let go of him and reached for Ghost again. “But these are not normal times and our enemies will not pay you the same courtesy. I told her the exact same thing. A snake will fight like a snake. A lion will fight like a lion. A wolf...like a wolf.” She raised her hand and touched the three headed dragon on Jon’s armour. “A dragon should not be fighting like a sheep. You chose this girl, Snow, and for good reason. You’re a dragon now. If you don’t embrace that, don’t let her embrace that, I fear it could be the end of all of us.” 

Olenna started to walk away then but Jon couldn’t help but argue. After all, Olenna was one of the few people he knew he could get away with arguing with. “She’s not a butcher,” Jon called after her. At his words, she turned around and sighed.

“Tell me what would be kinder Snow. A few thousand lives now. Or several hundred thousand later?” She didn’t wait for his reply before turning and retreating back to the castle.   

 

Later that night Yara came knocking on his door carrying a small tray of food with a large carafe of wine. He let her in. For a while, they sat in silence and ate and drank. He liked that she didn’t pester him with questions or advice or condolences. But in truth, if he had got to choose who would be at his door when he went to open it, she wouldn’t have been the one.

Still, he had her here. Theon wasn’t around to shift his eyes about fearfully. He had to know. “What all did Ramsay do to your brother?” he asked finally.

“Jon,” Yara sighed.

“Don’t bullshit me Yara,” he said immediately. Olenna had given him the hard truth and he appreciated her for it.  _ You’re a dragon now _ . He almost felt it. “Tell me the truth. All of it. I know Theon won’t. And I’m not about to write Sansa about it. But I have to know. I have to know the worst of it. Please.”

Yara sighed again and drained the wine in her glass - there was a lot in it but she swallowed it all in preparation for what she was about to tell him. Jon held his breath.

“He tortured him. Obviously. Started small. Had him tied to a wooden X, day and night. Starved him. Played mind games with him. Once he set him free only to hunt him down again and drag him back. It was a game to Ramsay.”  _ They’re toys to play with _ . “Then it got more intense. Picks under his fingernails. Screws through his feet. Turned him into his little pet - Reek, he called him - and made him sleep in the kennels.  And then…” She couldn’t say the last part. As Jon watched her, he realized she had tears in her eyes. And he knew Yara wasn’t one to cry at much, if anything. 

“What?” Jon breathed.

Yara took a deep breath and he could tell it pained her to relay such information. He braced himself. “Ramsay...he…” Another sigh. “He...he gelded him, Jon. Sent my father his manhood in a little box.” Jon’s mind reeled already. Gelded him. Jon could imagine no worse torture. Was this what would happen to Rickon? At the thought, Jon’s hands balled into fists, his chest heaved. He was still sitting in his chair but just barely. “He…” Yara started again and Jon looked up. What more could there be? “He forced him to stay and watch when...when he raped your sister on their wedding night.”

Jon stood up and threw his chair across the room faster than his mind could wrap around the action as he did it. Yara didn’t even flinch. In that moment Jon felt he could have breathed fire.  _ You’re a dragon now _ . And then it was back. In excrutiating detail. He could see everything, remember everything. The weirwood tree. The white and red dragon. The beast flying into his chest. He touched the three headed dragon on his armour now, his mind reeling. Then there was Daenerys, pregnant...with... _ his child _ , he was sure of it. The shard of dragonglass. Slicing her open.  _ The prince that was promised. The dragon has three heads. There must be one more.  _

But what in the fuck did it all mean?

 

After Yara left, he put on a cloak and started out the castle. It had happened first in the dragonglass caves. He had to go back there. He had to know. Ghost began to follow him, but once they reached the steps and he saw one of the dragons fly overhead, the wolf turned and shot back to the castle. Jon wished he would come along. This had to do with Ghost too. He knew it. 

Direwolves.

And dragons. 

And Daenerys.

 

The mines were empty this late. And dark. And cold. Jon lit the braziers on his way inside, first to the main cave with the dragonglass, then to the smaller cavern with the markings from the children of the forest. 

It was just as overwhelming entering the cave now as it was the first time. The shear amount of carvings there were, the motivations behind whoever had put them here, the meaning behind them that Jon couldn’t seem to deduce. And why, why since discovering this cave and that afternoon falling asleep here, why had he been having such strange dreams?

Jon stood and stared at the image of the White Walkers. He knew the one on the far left. Remembered him from Hardhome. That was him. That was the Night King. The way he had watched him as they rowed away, the way the carving looked as if it were watching at him right now.  _ I know you, Jon Snow _ , he seemed to say. 

Just as Jon was going to examine the illustration of the children and the first men, he heard padding along in the larger cavern. “Ghost?” Jon called, thinking the direwolf had overcome his fear of Daenerys’s dragons and finally come down to join him. 

“He’s here...with me,” he heard Daenerys call back and a moment later, she was stepping carefully through the tunnel to the mouth of the smaller cave, Ghost following closely behind her. 

“What are you doing down here?” Jon asked, not sure how he felt about it. The things he had dreamed...about her. He almost felt bad for them but then again, he couldn’t control his subconscious. But maybe this damned cave was. 

“This one was scratching at my door,” she informed him pointing to Ghost. “I opened it but he wouldn’t come in. I followed him and he led me down here.” She finally set down her torch in one of the braziers and looked around at where they were. She gave a little gasp when she took in the carvings all over the cavern walls. Her hand went to the symbol nearest her, a multi-armed spiral - the same one Jon had seen when he was traveling with Mance, the dead horses.  _ Always the artists _ , Mance had told him. 

“What do they mean?” Daenerys asked in a low voice. If the walkers made this symbol in the snow with body parts, and the children made this symbol in a cave…

“I don’t now,” he told her honestly. “But whatever it is, it’s important.”

“Who made them?” she asked, moving closer, making it difficult for Jon to breathe. Seeing her now, after remembering that first dream, all he could think of was her round with his child, and...digging a dragonglass shard out of his chest.

“The children of the forest.” Instinctively he grabbed her hand and led her to the illustration he had wanted to examine next. “They were here together with the first men. Fighting their common enemy.”

“The White Walkers,” Daenerys breathed. He nodded again and led her to their likeness, the Night King now glaring at the both of them. “That’s him, isn’t it?” she guessed. She gave a visible shudder as a chill swept through the cave and Jon automatically shrugged off his cloak and draped it about her shoulders. She gave a reluctant smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s not nearly as cold here as it was up at The Wall,” he pointed out. “This is actually quite warm for me. See?” Slowly he raised a hand to her cheek, letting his knuckles rest on her chilled skin. She closed her eyes at the touch of his heated hand and the temptation to pull her into him and kiss her was so strong. But he didn’t give into it. She was his queen. He couldn’t.

“Your Grace?” he asked suddenly, letting his hand fall, remembering something.

“Yes,  _ Lord Commander _ ,” she replied, her brow furrowed. “When we’re alone, I think Daenerys is fine. Jon.”

His heart skipped a beat and he nearly forgot what it was he wanted to ask her in the first place. Then her eyes wandered to the armour she had had forged for him and it all came back. “ _ Daenerys _ ,” he started. “Have you ever heard...your sigil…” Gods, how would he explain this without having to tell her of his dream? She waited expectantly. “Why is the dragon three-headed? Do you know?”

“Oh,” she seemed surprised by his question. “Um, I suppose it’s because of Aegon the first and his two sister wives. When they came over and conquered Westeros.”  _ Shit _ . He already knew that. Now he just looked stupid for asking. But that hadn’t been what he was looking for. How could he ask her?

“ _ The dragon has three heads _ ,” she mused, reaching up to trace the sigil on his gorget, much the same way Lady Olenna had earlier that day.  _ The dragon has three heads! _

“Why did you say that?” he demanded. The words from his dream. Considering the story of Aegon and his sister-wives and the Targaryen sigil, it was a seemingly innocuous phrase. But the way the words were arranged, something about it…

“Why are you asking me that?” Daenerys countered, looking at him with just as much suspicion.  _ So it did mean something more _ .

“Please Daenerys. Just...tell me where you heard that. Worded exactly like that. Who said it to you?” Jon’s heart pounded while he waited for her answer and the way her eyes widened almost in fear did nothing to settle him. Had she had the dream too? It seemed crazy but then how else could it be explained that they both knew those words?

“My brother. I heard him say it.”

“Viserys told you  _ the dragon has three heads _ ?” Jon asked, the answer not nearly as impressive as he thought it would be. But when she shook her head, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

“Rhaegar.” Rhaegar was dead. Robert Baratheon had killed him years ago on the Trident. Before either he or Daenerys would have been born. Jon’s breathing quickened. She went on, knowing she couldn’t say something so ridiculous sounding without giving him the context of it. “When I was in Qarth, the warlocks there stoll the dragons. They were newly hatched, much smaller than Ghost.” As she spoke she turned her back to the carvings on the wall and sunk down to sit on the ground. Jon followed suit. “They said the dragons made their magic stronger. They wanted me to come to their...temple _. The House of the Undying _ , it was called. They planned to chain me up and hold me prisoner as well. But before we escaped...I had...visions. Most of it seemed like nonsense. A house I grew up in as a child. A woman being ravaged by a group of men. A feast with corpses everywhere and a man in a throne with the head of a--” She stopped, seeming to remember something. She looked to Jon then, eyes brimming with tears. “The Freys, they killed your brother at a wedding?” Jon’s eyes widened as he inhaled sharply. “I saw him. Robb. That must have been him. A dead man with the head of a wolf...he was wearing a crown.” Without warning, Jon felt his own eyes sting. 

“You saw Robb killed?” Jon rasped. Daenerys nodded, eyes wide again and mouth hanging open. 

“Then it wasn’t all nonsense…” she trailed off. 

“Daenerys,” Jon got out, knowing he had to hear the rest. “The dragon. What about the dragon?” he urged her. 

“I...Rhaegar was with his wife Elia. She had just given birth to her son Aegon.” Daenerys’s eyes glazed over as she saw it all again before her. “Rhaegar called  _ him _ the prince that was promised.  _ His is the song of ice and fire _ .” She shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why not?” he prompted her.

“Because...Aegon died. He was killed in the sack of the city. They all were.”

“Daenerys, what else did Rhaegar say?” Jon demanded. She had to finish the story. She nodded, shaking the images from her head.

“It was almost like he looked to me then. Like he could see me. In all my other visions, it was as if I wasn’t there. They couldn’t see me. But Rhaegar...I think he did. He said,  _ there must be one more. The dragon has three heads _ . Elia only had two children. If they were to have another girl, she would have been Visenya…” she trailed off again.

“After Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters?” Jon asked, his heart hammering. She nodded. None of it made any sense. But she had said yet another thing he couldn’t account for.  _ There must be one more _ . He had heard that phrase in every dream he had had of her. 

“Tell me,” she said quietly. He knew what she was asking. But how could he explain it?

“I...dreamt of you,” he said carefully. Daenerys took in a shuddering breath. There was no way he could tell her all of it. It sounded ridiculous. And of course he didn’t want to sound like he was just trying to bed her because of a supposed dream he had where they shared a child. “You...you pulled a piece of dragonglass out of my heart. There was a voice...it kept saying  _ the prince that was promised _ and  _ the dragon has three heads _ . I don’t know what it means,” he finished honestly. 

“That’s all?” she asked as if she knew he was leaving a crucial part out. 

“Before...there was a dragon. He looked like Ghost. White and red eyes. Chased me to The Wall. Then it dove...into my chest. That’s when you pulled out the dragonglass.”

“Dragons. Dragonglass…. _ direwolves _ ,” she whispered. 

“Where did the Lady Melisandre go after she met with you in Meereen?” Jon asked suddenly. If anyone might have answers for them or be able to help them sort this all out it would be her. But Daenerys just looked at him sadly and pursed her lips briefly before answering.

“She said she had to go to Volantis. She wouldn’t say why.” Jon closed his eyes, frustrated beyond belief.  _ Why him? _ He was nothing but a bastard who had been resurrected. What role did he have to play in all this?

“I feel like we’re children,” he started. She looked at him questioningly. “We’re children playing at this game...and the rules aren’t fair. We don’t have all the pieces. We don’t understand the opponent. And we have no idea know how to win.”

 

They walked back to the castle shortly after that, Daenerys clutching his cloak close to her as they did, Ghost following slightly behind them. After he escorted her to her chambers, Jon thought he was done with unexpected encounters for the night but as he made his way to his room, the commander of the Unsullied, Grey Worm, caught up with him.

“Lord Snow,” he called to Jon in his thick Astapori accent. 

“Grey Worm,” Jon greeted, praying this would be a quick conversation. He was dead tired and had way too many things on his mind. 

“May I walk with you?” Grey Worm asked. Jon nodded and they continued toward Jon’s chambers. “We leave tomorrow with Lord Tully,” he reminded him. Jon nodded again, all too familiar with the plan. “While we are gone...the queen…” he trailed off and Jon wondered what the soldier was about to say. “She needs protecting.” They stopped in front of Jon’s door and the Unsullied commander faced him, eyes full of concern. “Please. Swear to me you will keep her safe. And...and Missandei as well. The queen values her opinion above most others,” Grey Worm added quickly but Jon knew the two were close. But it was such an unexpected and sincere request, he could do nothing but consent to it. 

“I swear it,” he promised him. Grey Worm gave him a solemn nod of thanks and made his way back up the hallway.

That night Jon did not dream...at all.

 

The next day Edmure and the Unsullied and Ellaria and the Greyjoys departed. Jon, Daenerys and Tyrion saw them all off. While Daenerys was deep in conversation with Tyrion and Edmure, Jon said his goodbye to Yara - as Theon had already boarded the ship, seemingly trying to avoid him.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to sail up to White Harbor instead and gut that little cunt Ramsay?” she asked him.

“That’s exactly what he’ll be expecting us to do,” he told her quietly. And if they did exactly what Ramsay expected, they would be playing his game, and they would lose. They couldn’t lose...

“We’ll get him back Jon,” she promised him. “We’ll get him back whole. We’ll slay those traitor Umbers and Karstarks. We’ll kill them all. I know the North lost much at the hands of the Iron Islanders and I admit my part in that. I know none of this would be happening now if we hadn’t come and tried to take what wasn’t ours. But we will help you get it back. I swear it.” She held out her hand to show she meant it. Jon gripped her forearm and she did the same, the pledge passing between them. 

“Thank you, Yara,” he said in a raw voice. Even despite last night’s brief distraction of the dragonglass cave and his incredibly odd conversation with Daenerys, he still couldn’t get the images out of his head that Yara had put in. Theon being beaten and starved, cut and crushed, … everything. He prayed Rickon wasn’t facing the same fate. It was hard even then to look at Yara because she knew how it all felt. She had been through it. Trying to rescue Theon and his mental wounds being so deep at the time that he refused to go with her. Watching him now, cower and wince, his demeanor now timid and quiet when he used to be so full of himself. Jon wondered if Theon would ever be the same so he knew Yara must have wondered as well.  

“Take care Jon,” she said finally and both of them automatically stepped in to embrace the other. As he watched her board the ship moments later, Jon knew he should have hated her for what their family had done to the North. But now, after everything that had happened, he just couldn’t. Instead he felt lucky to consider Yara Greyjoy a friend.

Daenerys approached him. “Lord Snow, Tyrion says we should make our way back up to the castle,” she said stiffly. “We need to begin planning for the aftermath of all this.” Without another word she turned and began marching up the beach. Jon frowned as he watched her walk away. They had been so open with each other the night before.  _ Well, for the most part _ , he thought. But she couldn’t have known he didn’t tell her the whole truth of what was in his dreams. So what in the world could have made her distant now?  

 

Several days later Baelish and Olenna departed and suddenly the island felt much smaller. Again Jon wondered how long they would have left on Dragonstone before the capital was seized and they would move operations to King’s Landing. It wasn’t a prospect he found particularly appealing. 

Two weeks after their departure, Ellaria sent a raven saying they had made it safely back to Sunspear and they were sailing on the capital with the entirety of the Dornish forces, save those still up at Eastwatch. Around the same time Olenna also sent a raven saying the Dothraki and Tyrell forces were on their way to King’s Landing also. As were the Knights of the Vale, according to Baelish. All the pieces were falling into place. It would only be a matter of time before they would be able to march on Winterfell. And what then? 

 

It was a month after the departure of the Greyjoys and Ellaria, and Edmure and the Unsullied. In a few days they should be getting word of the success of the missions. As the days crept by, Jon became more and more anxious. He had planned most of this. If they failed...it would be all his fault. But they couldn’t fail. It was a solid plan. There was no way something could go wrong. They had accounted for everything. Because of his stress from it all, his nights were filled with fitful dreams. One in particular left him jerking awake with tears streaming down his face…

He was lying on a familiar slab table in a familiar looking solar. Jon blinked and glanced down at his naked body. His wounds were in the exact same places. So nothing strange there. What was strange was why he was even back at Castle Black at all. He sat up and looked around, but Davos wasn’t there. Neither was Ghost. This was wrong. It was all wrong….But then he saw her. Like some sort of goddess, all in white, just as the first time he had ever dreamt of her only now she was, if possible, even more beautiful.  _ You came back to me _ , she breathed, tears in her eyes. She approached him tentatively as if afraid he might break if she got too close. But once she was within arms reach, he grabbed her and pulled her to him, cradling her head against his chest. When her tears subsided she kissed him deeply, her hands on either side of his face, holding him to her, not wanting to let him go. But when they heard footsteps coming toward them from the shadows, Daenerys stepped away as if giving a respectful distance of someone. Jon turned and all the air left his lungs. It was  _ her _ . He knew it, somehow. Every fiber of his being told him who she was. She had his same grey eyes, same dark hair. She was even a little on the short side, for a woman. And she was beautiful. He always thought she would be beautiful. As she came toward him, she stripped off her cloak and wrapped it about his shoulders.  _ Better? _ She asked. Staring at her then, Jon couldn’t take it any more. He broke. He tried to clamber off the table but she held him there, pulling him into her and gently pressing his head to her chest. Jon’s tears flowed freely as she rocked him in her arms.  _ It’s all right now love, it’s all right _ , she cooed him. He sat there, on the table, her arms about him, for what seemed like ages. He never wanted her to let him go. All his life he had wished to find her and here she was. But something inside him told Jon that this was not real.  _ You’re just a dream _ , he finally breathed, pulling away from her.  _ Aye, I’m a dream. But that doesn’t mean it’s not really me, now, does it? _ She smiled at him sadly and it was all Jon could do not to break down again. He would have to leave her soon, he knew. And she was backing away from him, retreating as yet another figure stepped in from the shadows. Jon didn’t recognize the man but Daenerys did. She slid her hand into Jon’s and they both looked upon the two figures. And he suddenly realized that they were both staring at family they had never been able to meet. His mother, he still didn’t know her name. And Daenerys’s brother, Rhaegar.  _ The prince who was promised _ , Rhaegar breathed and Jon and Daenerys looked at each other, neither sure which he was referring to.  _ But there must be one more _ , he went on. And the last part, Jon and Daenerys knew, so familiar with it by now, they said it in unison.  _ The dragon has three heads _ .

Jon woke calling for his mother, only to realize, she wasn’t there.

 

He was incredibly disoriented for several minutes. Daenerys, his mother, Rhaegar.  _ The dragon has three heads _ . Suddenly an incredibly strange thought hit Jon. All his dreams. The ones he heard that odd little phrase. Were they referring to  _ him _ ? He knew Melisandre thought him this  _ prince who was promised _ . Daenerys was a dragon for a certainty. But she was the last one. Jon was a Stark, a wolf. He wasn’t a dragon.  _ You’re not a Stark _ , a little voice in his head told him. He was a Snow. Just another bastard having strange dreams. Yet, was it possible? He never knew who his mother was. He dreamt of her with his dark hair and dark eyes but could she actually have had silver hair instead? But just as Jon considered it, he realized that didn’t make sense either. Daenerys didn’t have an older sister and her parents had no other siblings. There was no way his mother could have been a Targaryen. It was all just nonsense. 

As he got up and started mulling around the room, getting dressed, he picked up the gorget Daenerys had had forged.  _ You’re a dragon now _ , Olenna told him. Perhaps that was it. He wasn’t born a dragon, but Daenerys had made him one by naming him her commander. Were his dreams based on some silly turn of phrase?

Before Jon could think anymore about it though, his chamber door burst open, making him jump and Ghost leap to his feet. It was Daenerys - Tyrion, Varys, Davos, and Missandei closely behind. They all looked horror stricken.

“What?” Jon got out. “What is it?”


	13. The Commander and the Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gets news of a failed mission. A missing ally returns. And Jon's dreams become ever stranger.

“Our Ironborn and Dornish allies were attacked en route to King’s Landing,” Varys informed Jon as they all marched to the war room.  _ Damnit _ . He thought he had accounted for everything. They had sailed south along Essos so they wouldn’t run into Euron. But it had all been for nothing because he was just waiting for them on their way north to the capital. 

“And?” Jon prompted. 

“Two or three ships escaped. The rest sunk or captured. Ellaria Sand dead or captured. The Greyjoys dead or captured. The entirety of the Dornish military forces, save those they have at Eastwatch, gone.”

They filed into the room and Jon seethed, resisting the urge to pick up the nearest object and hurl it across the room. He glared at the spear-pierced sun they had placed on the map next to King's Landing. Daenerys walked up and laid the wooden sigil on its side, then sought his gaze. She looked the most disappointed he had ever seen her. And it was all his fault. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to take the blame. But he also knew it would do no good. It wouldn’t unmake this mistake. It wouldn’t find or save Ellaria or Theon and Yara. The entirety of the Dornish forces. Gone.  _ Fuck! _

“We need to find Euron Greyjoys fleet and sink it,” Daenerys said finally, her voice giving away nothing. Jon admired her for that. She looked so calm and collected. Aside from the way her arms hugged her body, he wouldn’t have been able to tell at all she had just lost two of her most important allies. It made him feel, if possible, even worse. 

“Your Grace, he’s already destroyed a good portion of our fleet. To send our remaining ships after him—” Varys began but Daenerys cut him off. 

“I’m not talking about sending our ships after him.” Jon’s eyes widened as did everyone else’s in the room. He knew she had flown on one of the dragons before but to hear her suggest it as a form of military tactic... _ A dragon should not be fighting like a sheep _ , Olenna had told him. He knew she was right. He knew Daenerys was the only one who would be able to take on Euron and stand a chance of winning. But it was  _ Daenerys _ . She was their queen. He couldn’t let her go.

“Would you have to go yourself?” Tyrion asked, thankfully being the first to voice his concern. “Euron’s ships could be anywhere. Or in more than one place. You’d be flying around the open seas, alone. For who knows how long.”

“I wouldn’t be alone,” Daenerys shot back. “I would have Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal. What can anyone do to them?”

“They can still do something to you,” Missandei pointed out and Jon nodded his agreement. “It only takes one arrow.”

“It’s too great a risk,” Jon said finally, hoping his words would convince her. “You’re too important.” He hated the look that crossed her face then. It was exactly how he felt. Defeated. Hopeless. Her eyes glistened and she seemed she might even cry.  _ Shit.  _ She should never have made him her military commander. He hadn’t even been able to get through being the Night’s Watch Lord Commander without getting himself stabbed to death. What in the world ever made him think he was up to this task?

“There’s other news from the west as well, Your Grace,” Varys spoke up. Jon let out a loud frustrated sigh. This didn’t sound good. 

“What is it?” Daenerys asked, bracing herself for the next update. 

“Edmure and the Unsullied got to the Rock just fine. But...when they arrived...it was deserted.” 

“Deserted?” Davos asked, speaking for the first time in a long while. “What do you mean deserted? They had no army guarding it?”

“No army. No lords, no small folk. Completely and utterly abandoned.”  _ Abandoned _ . 

“Why in seven hells would they abandon one of the most valuable castles in the entire country?” Jon demanded, the answer not immediately coming to him. 

It made no sense. The enemy would just let them have  _ Casterly Rock _ ? No. There was something more sinister at play here. 

“If the forces from the Westerlands are no longer in the Westerlands, where could they be going?” Davos asked. Another fair question. Possibly the more important question now. 

“Highgarden?” Tyrion suggested. 

“Not likely,” Jon answered automatically, glad to rule out one possibility. “And even if your brother were stupid enough to meet the Dothraki in an open field, he would lose miserably. Riverlands?”

“Riverlands aren’t very significant anymore,” Davos answered. “No gold. No great amount of crops. And Edmure’s forces would have come across them on their march to the Rock.”

“Wait, exactly,” Tyrion pointed out. “Anywhere they could have marched to, our men would have seen them first. Either the forces from the Riverlands. Or the Tyrell and Dothraki army. Someone would have come across them.”

“Unless they didn’t march,” Missandei observed, surprising everyone. 

“How could Euron have attacked the Greyjoys and Dornish  _ and _ ferried the Lannister forces to some undisclosed location at the same time?” Jon asked, though he had a feeling Missandei was onto something. 

“It’s said Euron has a thousand ships,” Varys noted. “It wouldn’t be entirely impossible for him to do both. Or he could have collected the Lannister army well before attacking our fleet.”

“Could they be headed for the capital then?” Davos asked. “Bringing in reinforcements to combat our armies?” 

“It wouldn’t make a difference, we still have more men,” Jon pointed out. That was something to be thankful for. They still had more men. The Tyrell army, the Dothraki, and the Vale. All were outside the gates of King’s Landing now, setting up the perimeter. Soon the city would be theirs. 

“So we just wait then?” Daenerys demanded, her face still showing that same helpless expression. 

“We have to,” Tyrion told her. Jon hated that he agreed. 

The meeting concluded then and Jon wanted to be the first out of the room but Daenerys’s voice found him before he could make a run for it. “Lord Commander Snow, might I speak with you alone for a moment?”

When everyone had gone, all the stress and anger and disappointment he felt in himself finally took it’s toll on Jon. He sunk into the nearest chair, his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve let you down,” he breathed. It was silent for several moments. When she did find her voice, Daenerys’s voice broke.

“You haven’t let me down. This isn’t your fault Jon,” she got out. But it  _ was _ his fault. He knew it

“It was my plan,” he reminded her, looking up. He hadn’t expected her to be standing so close to him...but even her beauty couldn’t distract him for long. He had fucked up. He had fucked up terribly. “They could be dead because of me,” he said. Daenerys gripped the edge of the  _ painted table _ and leaned against it, her tight hold on it turning her knuckles white. “Ellaria, Theon - gods after what he’s been through, Yara…” Jon’s voice trailed off, thinking of what she had told him Ramsay did to Theon. What worse torture could Euron put them through if he hadn’t already killed them?

“Let me go after him,” Daenerys said in a low, cold voice. “This wasn’t your mistake, it was mine. For not planning for this. I knew we didn’t have enough ships and yet I headed into this war anyway, knowing we were out-resourced. I can find him and I can get him.” She almost made too much sense. Three dragons against a thousand wooden ships. It would be quite a site. He had heard from Grey Worm what Daenerys had done to the master’s flagships when they attempted to take back Meereen. If he were being honest, it was something he wanted to see. Euron and Cersei definitely deserved it. But then again, if by some chance Ellaria, Yara, and Theon were still alive, they had no idea where to look for them. Daenerys could burn down the very ship that held them captive, and then what would that do? And if it didn’t go well, if she fell from Drogon’s back or if she were hit by an arrow, if she in turn were captured... _ no _ . It was too horrible to think about. It had already been his fault the Greyjoys and Dornish were attacked. He would not let her risk herself for this. He couldn’t lose her too.

“We already said, you’re too—”

“I’m asking men to die fighting for me. Men have already died fighting for me. What kind of a queen am I if I’m not willing to risk my life to fight my enemies as well?” She was so fierce. A warrior queen. He admired her so much for that. He knew she didn’t want to feel useless. But she  _ had _ to sit out the fighting. The stakes were now too high.

“My queen—” Jon began but she cut him off again.

“Don’t do that,” she seethed. “Don’t patronize me. I’ve faced my enemies before and I can do it again. I’m not afraid of—”

“I know!” Jon nearly shouted, snatching Daenerys’s hand at the same time, squeezing it tightly. She inhaled sharply and looked down at their conjoined hands. He looked up at her with fearful eyes, wondering if he’d gone too far. But she didn’t pull away and she didn’t speak. So Jon went on. “I know you’re not afraid. I know about all the things you’ve done. I know you’re probably braver than anyone on this island. Anyone in the Seven Kingdoms.” Her lips pursed as if trying to show she was still angry with him for not agreeing with her but her eyes gave away something softer. “But if we lose you…” He couldn’t even finish the thought. And when he continued to say nothing she pulled away from him. He heard her sniffle as she left the room.

 

It had been a while since Jon had worked in the dragonglass mines. He visited the site every day to check on progress but rarely took up a pickaxe like he did today to do the work himself. It was the only productive thing he could think to do. They had decided since they had very few ships left, they would just wait until they took King’s Landing and then worry about the threat of Euron’s ships after that was done. But where could Euron’s ships be? Jon couldn’t stop his brain from mulling it all over as he swung the axe. Westerlands? No, obviously. Highgarden? No, though he almost wished they’d march south so they Dothraki could defeat them all and that problem would be solved. The Vale? No, as Ellaria said, the Eyrie was impenetrable. Riverlands? No, there’d be no point. And even if they did take the opportunity to march up behind their forces surrounding King’s Landing, again, they didn’t have enough men to defeat the Targaryen army. King’s Landing? Possibly. But not likely. Cersei and Jaime would be too smart to gather all their forces in one place, especially with the threat of three dragons raining fire on the city. Daenerys wouldn’t do that but the Lannisters needn’t know. The North? Jon actually laughed aloud. The Umbers and Karstarks might have hated him for letting a few thousand wildlings through The Wall. But if they hated him, he knew they hated the Lannisters even more. Stormlands? Now that seemed much more likely than any other place Jon had considered. They had said it at the very first meeting - there wasn’t a military force in the Stormlands anymore thanks to Renly and Stannis Baratheon. The Stormlands were ideally situated. A short march to the capital. A short sail to the capital or Dorne. That was probably where Ellaria and the Greyjoys were attacked, between Sunspear and King’s Landing. But it still didn’t matter if they knew where the Lannister army and Euron’s fleet were. They had no way of attacking them with so few ships left. And Euron had  _ one thousand _ . 

It was near evening when Jon finally put down the axe. He hadn’t even had lunch. The rest of the men had gone up to the castle for the day but Jon decided to visit the cave with the carvings from the children of the forest. As much as this place unsettled him, it was the only place that validated him as well. At least this one thing he had been right about. This, he could say, he had done right. He figured they had mined a little less than half the glass in the cave and had armed the entirety of The Wall with it - Eastwatch, the Shadow Tower, Castle Black, the wildlings taking refuge. And they had been able to send supplies to the Riverlands, the Vale and the Reach and Dorne. He wondered vaguely if they should begin shipping dragonglass up to White Harbor as well, even though the North was still held by the Boltons. They may have been enemies, but none of that mattered to the Night King. And Jon knew he’d rather have to fight living men than their mindless corpses. 

Jon was examining, for what felt like the hundredth time, the illustration of the children and the first men. He couldn’t get it out of his head, the symbols next to the first men. Below the first two, that odd multi-armed spiral and then something that looked like a pierced circle. Then up above, between the middle figure and the far right figure, something that looked like a target...or an eye. Was this on purpose? Those symbols were all over the cave, repeated hundreds and hundreds of times. But were they carved specifically next to these three figures for a specific reason? 

Then there was still the question of what the connection was between these and the figures the walkers had made in the snow. Were these symbols significant to the children and the walkers were imitating them? Or were they significant to the walkers and the children were imitating them? The White Walkers and the Children of the Forest. There had to be a connection there. The children had been in Westeros for thousands of years longer than the first men. Maybe even before there  _ were _ men. Surely the children had been fighting the white walkers before the first men arrived via the Arm of Dorne...but the children were all gone, the only thing left of their legacy being this cave. Then again, people thought the White Walkers were gone, extinct, and yet Jon knew first hand that that wasn’t true. But if there were children of the forest still in Westeros, where could they be hiding?

And why would dragonglass be a substance that could kill walkers? Shatter them instantly into millions of tiny pieces...much like his Valyrian steel sword. Valyrian steel and dragonglass. Was there a connection between the two? Valyrian steel came from...Valyria, obviously. Jon had read in one of the texts at the citadel that Valyrians used to decorate their weapons with dragonglass. They also called dragonglass  _ frozen fire _ . Frozen. Fire. Ice. Fire. Ice. Fire. Ice. Fire. Ice.

 

That night Jon dreamt again of his nameless, yet beautiful mother. He dreamt of Rhaegar Targaryen being slain by Robert Baratheon at the Battle of the Trident. He dreamt of the weirwood tree in the godswood of Winterfell, it’s trunk made of ice and it’s leaves made of fire. And he dreamt of direwolves. And dragons. And Daenerys.

 

Two weeks went by and they had a few updates from King’s Landing. Though the capital was able to receive merchant ships as the Targaryen forces had been unable to block Blackwater Bay, the Lannisters were unable to feed the people of the city, their main supplier being the Reach. Food prices soared and the people stood at the gates of the city day and night begging to be let out. The Vale, Dothraki and Tyrell army had fired catapults of barrels filled with grain and fruit over the walls of the city, of course with the Targaryen sigil upon them so the people knew who was gifting them such resources. Gain the support of the common people. That’s how Daenerys had done it in Meereen when she freed the slaves there. Yet this time she had one clear advantage - support of the common people AND several high lords. 

But there had been bad news as well. Euron Greyjoy had delivered Ellaria Sand to Cersei. Had paraded her through the city with a rope around her neck, his hostage. Yara had been spotted as well, though she left the city tied up alongside Euron. Ellaria hadn’t. There was no mention of Theon, likely that he was dead.  _ Fuck! _ He wasn’t sure which was a worse prospect, being tortured by Cersei Lannister, being tortured by Euron Greyjoy, or dying. The longer he considered it, the more Jon thought Theon, if he truly was dead, probably got the easiest of it. But it still didn’t make him feel any better about it. 

Jon thought of Tyene, fighting and freezing up at Eastwatch. Her mother was likely dead because of him. He knew he had to be the one to tell her. He had wanted to do it in person. But she was hundreds of miles away. In the end, he wrote her a short scroll. He told her the plan, that he had been the one behind the plan, and that it was therefore his fault. After he finished writing it, he considered tearing it up again. He didn’t want her to do something foolish like try to avenge her mother or rescue her. Cersei Lannister would see that coming and would be ready. But he also knew Tyene would find out somehow. It might as well be him. On his way back from the maester’s tower and rookery, Jon ran into Daenerys. He needed to talk to her as well. And as they said, there was no time like the present. 

“I want to resign as your military commander,” he said without preamble. She stopped immediately and turned to face him, her expression unlike any he had ever seen her wear before. She looked... _ heartbroken _ .

But if her face gave her emotions away, her voice certainly made up for it. For her voice was cold, calculating and exactly what he needed to hear. “Lord Snow, we are in the middle of a war and you are the military commander I chose. I am your  _ queen _ . I will tell  _ you _ when you are relieved of your position and it is not now. We are at too crucial a point in our plans for one of my men to simply walk out and bury his head in the snow. Your words are the Stark words and you know them better than I do, but winter is not coming,  _ winter is here _ . And if I am to take the Iron Throne before the threat beyond The Wall is upon us, I need every capable man I can get at my side and you are one of them. Have I made myself clear?”   

“Y-yes, Your Grace,” Jon stammered automatically.

“Good. Now walk me back to my chambers.” Jon nodded and offered her his arm which she took stiffly, her chin held aloft in an exaggerated royal posture.  _ She needed him _ . As much as he had mucked things up for her, she still wanted him by her side. …  _ And she wants an escort back to her chambers… _ but Jon shook his head, not about to read into that too much. He had walked with her around the castle plenty of times before. And she had invited him to sup with her that first night she had been on Dragonstone. Still, Jon’s stomach did somersaults as she opened the door and gestured for him to come in.     

“Pour us some wine, Lord Commander,” Daenerys said lazily, and if he hadn’t known any better, Jon would have guessed the queen had already had a few cups of wine prior to seeing him at the rookery.  _ Had she followed me there? _ Jon wondered. Still, he did as he was bid and handed her the glass.

She took a long draught before sitting down before the fireplace, beckoning him to do the same in the seat opposite her. “Lord Commander Snow... _ Jon _ ,” she corrected herself. “If I were to ask you an incredibly personal question...would you answer me honestly?” 

_ Fuck _ . Immediately, Jon’s hand shot to the scar that went through his heart, just under his tunic and leathers. She hadn’t shown any interest in his  _ lawful release _ of his Night’s Watch vows before. What would prompt her to do so now? They hadn’t spoken much since the night she followed Ghost down into the dragonglass cave. Other than that it had all been war council meetings and of course, seeing their allies off when the departed Dragonstone. He rarely even saw her about the castle.  Or perhaps she was going to ask him about the dreams, knowing that he hadn’t told her the whole truth when they  _ were _ down in the dragonglass cave together. Was this something he was ready to tell her? Was he ready to tell her about the night he was betrayed by his brother’s in the Night’s Watch or that his subconscious kept forcing him to imagine her carrying his child?

But she was his queen. He had to tell her the truth if she asked him for it. So, reluctantly, he gave her the stiffest of head nods. She took a deep, shuddering breath as if she were trying to talk herself into saying what she wanted to say. “What is or was your relationship with Yara Greyjoy?”  _ Ohh _ . He let out a sigh of relief that she hadn’t asked him about being in the Night’s Watch. She raised a single eyebrow to let him know she was still waiting for his answer.

“Yara...I feel terrible for what’s happened to her, especially knowing it was mostly my fault to begin with.” He thought about it every day. Wondered what she and Ellaria must have been going through, if they were even still alive at this point. Where Theon might be, if he had survived. 

“I meant,” Daenerys began but paused and took another deep breath before saying the next bit. “Romantically?” Jon’s mouth popped open, completely not expecting this to be the direction of their conversation. 

“Um...Your Grace….Daenerys...I...?”

“Considering I saw you two in a very intimate embrace outside her chambers several weeks ago, I had guessed it was rather more than just platonic.”  _ Shit _ . Jon would have cursed Yara had she not been a war prisoner of her uncle’s at the moment. Since she had seen them, there was no point denying it. He had no choice but to be honest with her. 

“Yara...isn’t your typical noble lady,” Jon began but immediately knew that was not the way he should have started when he noticed Daenerys’s nostrils flair. Jon sighed. He’d have to be direct.  “The night we met and she told me of her plans to sail to Meereen to offer you her ships, we...had a bit to drink and she invited me back to her room.” Daenerys’s expression changed from anger to something like validation, as if she had known all along Jon and Yara had been sleeping together. “However,” Jon went on, determined not to come across like she must have pegged him as. “Though I did go to her room that night, I didn’t stay. Nothing ended up happening, and aside from the kiss you saw, nothing ever happened. That kiss, in fact, was just...just Yara being Yara. I hadn’t asked for it and wouldn’t have let things continue if she had invited. So I would say our relationship is one of friendship. That’s all.” 

Jon drained his wine cup, not knowing what else to do. Was she still angry with him for having almost slept with one of her key allies? Was this even about fraternization or had Daenerys asked for more personal reasons? Jon considered the wine. The purple stains on her lips that suggested she had been drinking before she found him. The fireplace. The way her breathing picked up the longer he stared at her. 

“I’m assuming you’re only asking, Your Grace, because of political reasons?” he breathed. Daenerys closed her eyes briefly as if deciding on something. 

“Yes, Lord Commander Snow. I’m only concerned about how this would affect your ability to make military decisions.”  _ Damn her _ . Jon knew she was lying. Or maybe he just hoped she was. He wanted to knock that wine cup out of her hand and pull her to the ground before the fireplace and show her who he really wanted. But he couldn’t be sure the gesture would be received the way he wanted it to. She was his  _ queen _ . He couldn’t be so forward. But he had to know...Only one way to find out. 

“If that’s all,  _ Your Grace _ .” Without waiting for her to excuse him, he got up and headed for the door.  _ If she doesn’t call you back, then this is all in your head _ , he reasoned. If she didn’t call him back, then she didn’t care and this really was about politics. If she didn’t call him back, then whatever strange feelings that had been bubbling up in him since meeting her needed to be put to rest once and for all. But if she did call him back...he walked as slowly as he could without it seeming on purpose. He was almost to the door. He reached for the handle, his heart sinking—

“ _ Jon _ ,” she called. He turned and she was standing there by the fireplace, looking like she wanted nothing more than for him to come back and wrap her in his arms. His steps to her were much quicker and more deliberate than his steps to the door. He wouldn’t be headed out that door for a while if he had his way. Before he had even got to her, she reached for him, hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders and he wrapped an arm around her, hand pressing to her back, pressing her to him, he cupped her face with his other hand, she lifted herself on her tiptoes, and—

The chamber door burst open and they sprang apart to find Missandei at the door, her expression utterly unreadable as there seemed to be too many emotions crossing it. “Your Grace,” she breathed seemingly out of breath. 

“What is it Missandei?” Daenerys asked, trying to compose herself. 

“Theon Greyjoy. He’s alive. He’s  _ here _ .”

 

Jon had never been happier to see Theon Greyjoy in his entire life. Without saying a word, Jon marched up to him and embraced him, giving him a tight squeeze before taking a few steps back to get a better look at him. It was almost like having Robb back after hearing of the  _ red wedding _ . Robb had always been much closer to Theon when they were growing up. Jon was jealous Theon had a real name and was a legitimate son of his father’s. And Theon always resented that Jon was actually a part of the Stark family, whereas he was just a ward. The two never got along well as children. But seeing Theon now, alive and well, for the most part, made Jon feel immensely relieved. Yes, Yara and Ellaria were still prisoners of war. But they had Theon. One down, two to go.

“Your Grace,” Theon addressed Daenerys. She looked as if she wanted to embrace Theon as well but she wasn’t as familiar with him as Jon was. So she simply settled with clasping his hands in her own and giving him her warmest of smiles.

“Lord Greyjoy we’re so glad to have you back. When we heard Euron attacked and we heard he had Yara and Ellaria captive with no word of you, we feared the worst.” Theon shifted uncomfortably. Jon couldn’t blame him. Being one of the few to survive an attack of such a scale was always something to feel guilty about. It made him think of Hardhome, the white walkers, all those men, women, and children of the free folk. But he had made it. And Theon had made it. And Jon had to tell himself there was a reason for that.

“Your Grace,” Theon began again. “I’ve come to ask for your help. I know Euron has my sister captive in his flagship, the Silence. There are five ships left from our original Iron Fleet. If we can kill Euron, I know the Ironborn’s allegiance will sway to Yara’s side. If we kill Euron, his thousand ships are yours.” 

Everyone in the war room - Missandei, Jon, Daenerys, Davos - gaped at Theon in shocked silence.  _ One thousand ships _ . After what Euron had just done to their fleet, it would be a huge gain for them. To have Yara back safely. Ships to lay siege to the capital from Blackwater Bay to finally stop imports to the city. Have Cersei surrounded on all sides. It was exactly what they needed. 

“Did you have something in mind?” Davos was first to ask. 

Theon sat down and while Jon poured him a large horn of ale - thank the gods they had found some in the kitchens because he was getting quite tired of wine - he began to unfold his plan.

 

“No,” Jon said firmly twenty minutes later. Daenerys looked daggers at him. “We’ve gone over this, Your Grace. I’m not putting you on the front lines.” 

“She wouldn’t be on the front lines,” Theon said. “She would be reinforcement.”  _ Reinforcement _ . Even if Euron was stupid enough to fall for Theon’s  _ trick _ of luring him off his  _ Silence _ to attack  _ their _ flagship, Theon would still need to board the Silence, locate Yara, free her from her bonds, get her safely to a waiting skiff, row back to their waiting secondary ship, all without being seen and drawing attention to said ship. Then Daenerys would still need to ride in anyway on the dragon to burn both Euron’s  _ Silence _ and their flagship that he would supposedly be on looking for her.  _ Reinforcement _ . More like the entire literal firepower of the plan. When Theon first said  _ thousand ships _ Jon’s ears had perked up. Now that he realized how many risks would actually need be taken to pull off such a plan, he didn’t want to hear anymore about it. 

“Forgive me, Lord Greyjoy,” Davos began, “but doesn’t it seem a bit juvenile? Your uncle has already destroyed your whole fleet. Wouldn’t he know it was a trick if you showed up to fight his thousand ships with your five?”

“We wouldn’t be fighting the whole thousand. Just the Silence. And just for Yara,” Theon countered.

“No,” Jon repeated. But before he could say more, Daenerys butted in.

“Lord Commander, while I appreciate your input, yours isn’t the only voice in this room. Theon has a plan and it’s a sound one.”

“It isn’t a sound plan, one,” Jon started, his anger bubbling. They had just resolved one issue and had been so close. But now Theon was here bringing Daenerys yet another temptation to go out and try to be the hero, the warrior queen. He wouldn’t have it. “Two, I am Lord Commander of the Targaryen military forces not just another voice in this room. You chose me to command so I am commanding. And I command you  - ” he pointed to Theon, “to drop this ridiculous idea. Once we take the capital, we’ll be in a better position to begin plans for a rescue mission. We’ll buy more ships, we’ll regroup and refocus all our efforts seaward, whatever we need to do, we just need to be patient.”

Daenerys looked about to open her mouth to give Jon an incredibly stern talking to when Varys and Tyrion burst into the room. “Where have you two been?” the queen demanded.

“We finally know what happened to the Lannister army.”

 

“Just go,” Daenerys breathed. It was only she and Jon left in the war room as she had dismissed the rest of her advisors and Theon.  _ Dorne _ . First Ellaria captured. And the entire Dornish army taken out by Euron Greyjoy. Now the southernmost kingdom sacked by the Lannisters. Of course it had only made Daenerys want to take out Euron and Cersei even more, even making her go so far as to threaten to fly the dragons to the Red Keep and melt the castle down. But Tyrion and Missandei had talked her out of it. Her anger, however, was directed at Jon.

“I know you don’t want to admit this is the right plan because you’re not the one who came up with it and you’re not in the thick of things, but it is the right plan. As your commander, I cannot let you put yourself at risk like that. And if you want to hate me for wanting to keep you safe, so be it.” As he spoke he stepped closer and closer to her until they were only inches apart. She didn’t back away from him but she refused to look at him, her head turned to the side. He took her chin between his thumb and index finger and turned her face to his. She still looked livid. “I won’t condone any plan that puts you in harm’s way,” he breathed. 

He watched as her pupils dilated and her breathing became uneven. Now wasn’t exactly perfect timing, but Jon wanted nothing more than to scoop her up, lay her down on the  _ painted table _ and make her his. And based on the way things had gone in her chambers before Missandei’s news of Theon’s arrival, it wouldn’t have been outside the realm of possibility. But as Jon leaned into her, she put her hands on his chest and pushed him away.

“It’s late, Lord Snow,” she breathed. She began retreating for the door. “And we have much planning to do tomorrow.” With that, she walked out of the room, and Jon was left feeling more confused, frustrated, inadequate, and inept than ever.   

 

That night Jon dreamt of his aunt Lyanna and how she had been kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen. But the dream shifted and instead of Rhaegar, it was him. He was Rhaegar and Lyanna was Daenerys. But he hadn’t kidnapped her. They had simply run away together. They ran to The Wall, to Castle Black. But when the castle gates opened, they didn’t open to beyond The Wall. They opened to the crypts of Winterfell. And the Kings of Winter were crawling out of their graves, wielding their longswords, telling Jon he didn’t belong there. He and Daenerys ran deeper and deeper into the crypts to get away from the long dead kings but stopped suddenly when they came across a crown of blue winter roses. Jon picked it up, reminded of a tale someone told him once about a wildling harp player who had kidnapped a Stark maiden. He crowned Daenerys and suddenly the crypts grew hot. So hot the walls around them were melting and a giant dragon emerged, but the dragon was not a dragon, it was his father, repeating to him the last words he had ever said to Jon,  _ The next time we see each other, we’ll talk about your mother, mmm? I promise _ —

 

“Jon...Jon!” Jon jerked awake to find Davos leaning over him ,his hands retreating from having shaken Jon to get him to come to. Missandei stood at the foot of Jon’s bed, silent but brow creased in worry.

“It’s the queen,” Davos got out, his eyes burning into Jon’s just like the dragon had burnt down the crypts in his dream. Jon’s heart thudded painfully in his chest, both from being awoken so forcefully from such a strange dream and from the concern pouring out Davos’s and Missandei’s eyes. 

“Daenerys, is she all right?” Jon demanded. She had told him in the war room that it was late, that they would be spending the entire day working on planning and strategy. What could have happened in just a few hours?

“She’s gone. Left before first light. Her, that dragon...and Theon Greyjoy.”


	14. Dragonstone Without a Dragon Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The small council makes plans in Danerys's absence. Jon receives a visitor who brings news that could alter the very history of Westeros as they know it.

“You’re not  _ listening _ to me,” Tyrion insisted as Jon paced the war room. “She didn’t just leave you in charge of the island while she’s gone. She left you to  _ rule _ in her stead.”

“Tyrion, she could be killed!” Jon nearly shouted.

“That’s exactly my point!” Tyrion roared right back. “If she’s killed, what then? Do we all go home? Do we let my sister continue to sit the Iron Throne because she is clearly such a capable and just ruler, hmm?” Slowly, it began to dawn on Jon just what Tyrion was saying and if his hands weren’t shaking before, they certainly were now. “It isn’t something any of us want to think about. But she has no family. No heir. And if what you say is true about this Night King and army of the dead, then we need someone to sit the throne who can and will protect the people.”

“I don’t...I don’t want…” Jon stammered, eyes shifting to Davos. But Davos had a look of recognition in his eye that Jon didn’t like. So did Varys. So did Missandei.

“She didn’t leave me Lord Regent, as a Hand normally would be. She left it to you. The best we can do right now is wait for her to come back. But if by some horrible chance she doesn’t, we can’t risk losing you too.” 

“Why me?” was all Jon was able to get out. He was her military commander and hadn’t felt like a very capable one of late. He was a bastard. No one of importance. He wasn’t meant to sit the Iron Throne or any throne. Why would she want him to be her successor if she didn’t return from battle?

“Because,” Missandei began softly, “ _ You  _ did this. You brought nearly the entire kingdom together. Dorne and Highgarden. The Riverlands and the Vale. That was  _ you _ , Jon.”

“Missandei’s right,” Varys conceded. “Before I even set sail for Dorne, it seemed you had already put it all in motion. Not only were you able to convince these people to support the queen, you were able to convince them of the threat beyond The Wall. The last remains of the Dornish army are up north now because of you. Olenna Tyrell sent you here to Dragonstone with men and resources to mine the dragonglass because she believed in you.”

“I can’t,” Jon breathed, feeling as if the walls were closing in on him. 

“We don’t have to think about it now,” Davos pointed out. “She’s still alive and well for all we know. So why don’t we stop talking about it and get back to work.” Tyrion seemed reluctant but gave a nod in agreement. Varys followed suit. Jon sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. It made sense, he supposed. He had placed such faith in her before he ever even got the chance to meet her. Now she was putting just as much faith in him.  _ Too much _ , he thought. But there was no use debating about it now. Like Davos said, they had work to do.

 

They had been working out what to do about the sack of Dorne when one of Daenerys’s bloodriders, Qhono, Jon thought his name was, came in and spoke to Missandei - the only one of the group who could understand Dothraki. Their exchange was somewhat lengthy but when they finished, Qhono gave Jon a nod and left the room.

“We have visitors.” As they walked to the throne room, Missandei explained that there was apparently a small group of people requesting the audience of the queen. One of the group claimed to be a friend of Daenerys’s. And another of the group was carrying a Valyrian steel sword when Qhono and his men relieved them of their weapons. 

“Valyrian steel?” Jon asked as they walked. He looked to Tyrion who furrowed his brow. “And how would they have spoken to Qhono? Whoever they are, they must know Dothraki.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Missandei mused. Who could it be? Someone from Essos perhaps? They gathered in the empty throne room and Jon shifted his feet uncomfortably, standing on the dais. 

“Sit,” Tyrion commanded him, nodding to the throne. Jon took a deep breath. This was all wrong. He wasn’t a king. This seat was meant for the ancestor of Aegon the Conqueror, for Daenerys. Not him, a bastard from the North. But as Tyrion’s gaze sharpened, Jon took a deep breath, adjusted his leathers and sword belt and sat the throne of Dragonstone. 

Waiting for Qhono to return with their guests, Jon was reminded of his dream from the night before. The Kings of Winter in the crypts of Winterfell. He didn’t belong there either. He thought of the blue winter roses, the crown he had placed on Daenerys’s head. Kings and Queens and ice and fire. His fingers rubbed at a familiar spot on his chest as the chamber doors opened. 

And Jon immediately stood and smiled.

“What in the world are you doing here?” he asked as Sam gave him a rib breaking hug. Jon embraced Gilly and little Sam next but stopped in front of Ser Jorah. “Are you…?” He looked to Sam. “Did you find a cure?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t.” Jorah smiled. Jon sighed with relief and took the knight’s hand enthusiastically, pulling him to him and clapping him on the back. 

“What are you doing here?” Jon asked Sam again, looking between him and Gilly and the baby. Jorah, it made sense. He was Daenerys’s friend and advisor. He would of course return to her side once he found a cure. That was the plan all along. But Sam? He was supposed to be training to be a maester, supposed to be using the Citadel library to do research on the previous Long Night. 

“We’ve got a lot to talk about Jon,” Sam said.

 

Over supper that evening, Jorah and Sam told Jon everything that had happened at the Citadel since Jon had left for Highgarden. About Sam finding Jorah a cure, a procedure that was so dangerous and risky that it was forbidden, yet Sam had done it anyway. Jon had to smile at that. He remembered when he first met Sam at Castle Black. How timid he had been, how afraid of everything he was, except books. Now he was a Valyrian steel sword wielding, rule breaking, greyscale curing, hero. When the archmaester at the Citadel refused to believe Sam about the Long Night and army of the dead and had tasked him with transcribing old rotting scrolls and manuscripts, Sam had had enough and decided to leave with Ser Jorah for Dragonstone. But before Sam left, his mother and sister visited him, to bring him the Tarly ancestral Valyrian steel sword,  _ Heartsbane _ . Apparently House Tarly was one of the few noble houses in the Reach to oppose Olenna’s support of Daenerys and were now sailing with the Lannisters. 

“She said what they did, opposing House Tyrell when we’ve been sworn to them for centuries, she said it was unforgivable. Especially after what Cersei Lannister did to Queen Margaery and her brother and father. She said I was the only Tarly who deserved to wield  _ Heartsbane _ ,” Sam recounted proudly. It would certainly come in handy in the war to come, Jon thought. 

He, of course, had much to tell them as well. Of Daenerys’s arrival at Dragonstone, the Greyjoy attack, of her leaving that very morning to ride off on one of the dragons to find Euron’s fleet and attack. Anger still radiated from him over the whole ordeal, not being able to do anything about it and not knowing whether she was safe. 

“She’s ridden into battle on Drogon before,” Jorah reminded him. “She’s stronger than she looks.” It was not reassuring. 

After they had caught up and exhausted small talk, Jorah excused himself for the evening. Jon had been about to do the same when Gilly asked to speak with him privately, saying she had something she wanted to show him. Jon looked to Sam who shrugged and left to put little Sam to bed. 

“What is it Gilly?” Jon asked thoroughly confused. He and Gilly rarely spoke. He wondered what in the world she could have to show him. 

“Jon, your father’s name was Stark, right?” Jon’s eyebrows shot up automatically in surprise but he nodded. 

“Lord Eddard Stark, that’s right.” 

“Stark is his family name. So anyone named Stark would be your family too?”

“I guess so,” Jon answered, getting ever curiouser. 

“Do you happen to know someone named Lyanna Stark?” Jon’s heart thudded uncomfortably at the name. His father never liked to talk about his late sister. Lyanna was only a whisper around Winterfell because of what had happened to her. Again Jon thought of his dream from that morning. Rhaegar and Lyanna, him and Daenerys. 

“She was my aunt,” Jon explained. “She died during Robert’s Rebellion. What about her, Gilly?”

Gilly then proceeded to pull a book out of the satchel by her feet. It was a huge, filthy, ancient thing that she needed both hands to lift. “This was one of the texts Sam was supposed to transcribe before we left the Citadel. I started reading it because I thought it was interesting.” She started flipping through pages. “Private diary of High Septon Maynard.” More page turning. “When I read this, I tried asking Sam about it but he wasn’t very interested. Too concerned about the maesters and how they don’t believe him about the Long Night.” She was now skimming each page, apparently close to the passage she wanted him to see. “I didn’t know your family was like royalty,” she added, pausing in her search. 

“Royalty? What are you talking about Gilly?” She resumed her skimming until she found what she was looking for, then scooted the book toward Jon, her finger pointing to a specific section. 

“Because of your aunt Lyanna. And the prince.”

“Rhaegar?” Jon choked. How would Rhaegar kidnapping Lyanna make Gilly think it made his family royalty?

“ _ Rhaegar _ . I was saying it wrong. Maybe that’s why Sam wouldn’t listen. I thought it was Ragger.” She tapped her finger at the passage to draw Jon’s attention to it. 

_...Once the annulment was performed, Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna Stark said their marriage vows, joining together in light of the seven…  _

Jon stopped reading and looked up at Gilly, voice stuck in his throat. Rhaegar and his aunt Lyanna...married? But Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna. Why would he force her to marry him if he had kidnapped— _ he didn’t kidnap her _ , a voice said in Jon’s ear. The dream... Jon’s heart was thudding unnaturally quick and for reasons he couldn’t explain, he was having a hard time breathing. He had seen this. His dream. Right before they had arrived on Dragonstone, his dream had been about this very thing. Crown of blue winter roses. Wasn’t that part of the story? Some tourney before the rebellion, Rhaegar had gifted Lyanna with a crown of blue winter roses. He remembered something Daenerys had told him of her vision when she was in some city he couldn’t remember in Essos. How if Rhaegar and Elia had had one more child, a girl, it would have been Visenya. But Rhaegar and Elia had only had two children. The hairs on the back of Jon’s neck stood up. He couldn’t place his finger on it, but something wasn’t adding up. If Rhaegar and his aunt had run away together then...Robert’s Rebellion, the whole story, it was wrong. 

“Jon?” Gilly asked, a concerned look on her face. “Everything all right?” 

“Yeah, Gilly,” Jon said automatically, even though it wasn’t. He walked her back to her room soon after and thanked her for showing him the book. But as he got into his own bed that evening, Jon’s mind raced. Had his father known?  _ No _ , Jon reasoned. That didn’t sound like Lord Stark. But his uncle Brandon...he had gone to King’s Landing to get Lyanna back. His grandfather...they had both been killed on the Mad King’s orders. Daenerys’s father. Why hadn’t Rhaegar and Lyanna told anyone they eloped? Lyanna was promised to Robert. Perhaps that was it? Had Robert killed Rhaegar because he thought he had harmed Lyanna, thought he had kidnapped and raped her? Or had Robert known Lyanna chose Rhaegar over him and was jealous? It was all so long ago. And anyone who had been there and knew the truth was dead. They were all dead. Lyanna. Rhaegar. Robert Baratheon. His father. 

After what felt like hours, Jon finally slipped into a fitful sleep. Jon was on the cliffs of Dragonstone. He was with Ghost. But Ghost was just as Jon had found him years ago in the Wolfswood, a pup he could pick up with one hand. He lay in the grass and Ghost sat on his chest licking his face, all fluffy white fur and ruby red eyes. Jon turned his head and Daenerys lay next to him. On her chest sat a tiny black dragon, Drogon. He flapped his wings but couldn’t get airborne, all black scales and orange-red eyes. Black. And white. Dragon. And Direwolf.  _ He looks like you _ , Daenerys said nodding to the dragon.  _ And Ghost looks like me _ . Jon smiled. He had never noticed that before. Ghost with his white fur and Daenerys with her silver hair. Drogon’s black scales and Jon’s black curls. They were complete opposites.  _ Just like my brother and Lyanna _ , Daenerys pointed out. Rhaegar and Lyanna. An odd thought crossed Jon’s mind.  _ Daenerys _ , he began,  _ If the dragon has three heads, what does the direwolf have? _ She laughed.  _ I don’t know _ . Jon nodded and lay back again, thinking about it.  _ But it doesn’t matter _ , Daenerys went on, _ because you’re not a real wolf _ . Jon frowned.  _ Yes I am _ . She sighed sadly.  _ You’re only half wolf Jon _ . They both turned on their sides, facing each other. Little Drogon and little Ghost sniffed at each other curiously.  _ So what’s the other half?  _ Jon asked her. She opened her mouth about to tell him when—

Jon woke with a start, sunlight pouring into his chambers. It took him several moments to get his bearings and it wasn’t until Ghost hopped onto his bed and nudged his face with his wet nose that he was able to breathe normally again.  _ So what’s the other half? _ Jon sat up and looked at Ghost as if the direwolf would be able to answer the question for him. The only other answer that he could think of, he already knew it wasn’t possible, had ruled it out. He thought of his dream from the night before and the last words his father had ever spoken to him.  _ I promise _ . But Ned had broken that promise. Because Jon never saw him again.

When Jon went to the great hall to break his fast, Sam was already waiting for him, scroll in hand. “This came for you, early this morning.” Hoping it was from Daenerys, Jon snatched it quickly out of Sam’s hand but when he noticed the seal from Riverrun, his heart sank. True, he hadn’t heard from Sansa in weeks. He missed her. He missed Arya and Bran. But he knew they were all safe. Daenerys was not. 

_ Jon, Bran has made it to Riverrun from Castle Black. He possesses certain abilities now such as looking into the past and seeing across vast distances. He says he has seen the army of the dead marching on The Wall near Eastwatch by the Sea. We have sent out ravens to every major house in Westeros informing them of the threat beyond The Wall. Stay safe. Your faithful sister, Sansa. _

Jon read over the letter three times. Marching on The Wall. Army of the dead. Bran. Visions.  _ Fuck _ .

 

Tyrion scratched his chin, somewhere between pensive and frustrated. Jon didn’t like it either. But it was the only plan they had. Jorah stared at the  _ painted table _ long and hard, his eyes never leaving Winterfell. But they had been through this. There was simply no time for that. 

“We don’t want to lose half the Unsullied and forces from the Riverlands before they get to Eastwatch,” Jon reminded him. “Sansa said they sent ravens to all the major houses in Westeros. Maybe the lords of the North will realize the true fight isn’t with each other, but it’s with the dead.”

“You don’t think this Ramsay Bolton will think it an act of war and march North once they arrive at Eastwatch?” Jorah argued.

“We’re not marching for Winterfell. If we wanted to take it, we could, easily. But we’re not. And even still, the dead will come for them too just the same.” It was perfectly true. To take Winterfell, all they would need to do would be to sail their remaining ships up to Torrhen Square and march north. But they were already stretched so thin. They couldn’t afford to lose a single soldier now. Marching through the Riverlands and using their ships to sail north on the east coast was their best plan. They would avoid Ramsay and they would avoid Cersei and Euron. 

“I don’t like it. But I agree with Jon,” Tyrion stated. “It’s the best plan we have for now. I’ll get a raven to Grey Worm and Edmure Tully.”

“Any word of our siege of King’s Landing?” Jon asked of Varys. They were abandoning Casterly Rock to go protect the North. With Daenerys gone, Jon couldn’t help but think back to Yara’s words at their first war council meeting. They needed to take the city. A half hearted siege would do nothing, especially since they didn’t have ships. Defeating Cersei once and for all, Euron would have no one left to be loyal to but himself. Perhaps he wanted the Iron Throne, perhaps not. But one thing was for sure, he wouldn’t be able to take the city by himself. He would be no threat to them if they held King’s Landing. And with Euron in Dorne, possibly being burnt to a crisp at that very moment by Daenerys, King’s Landing was defenseless. The Lannister army was with Euron. The only guards for the city were the city watch, according to Tyrion, and they could be easily suaded. 

“No changes, my lord. The people grow ever restless but Cersei has not surrendered, of course.” Time for the tough decision. 

“We need to take the city, Lord Varys.” Tyrion eyed Jon, lips pursed. “If we can get word to the gold cloaks that they will be pardoned and given the opportunity to keep their positions once the city is ours, do you think they will open the gates?” Jon asked him. Tyrion considered for a moment. 

“Possibly. But if they won’t?” 

“We finally put our armies to good use and attack.”  _ A dragon should not be fighting like a sheep.  _ Tyrion nodded.

“You don’t think we should wait for the queen to return?” he asked, though the look on his face already told Jon he knew his answer. 

“We don’t have time Tyrion. If the dead make it past The Wall…”

 

That afternoon, Jon waited on the cliffs of Dragonstone, looking out on Blackwater Bay. She should be back soon. It didn’t take that long to burn a few ships with dragonfire did it? Ghost sat next to Jon, his demeanor melancholy, as if he too wanted nothing more than for the queen to return. He didn’t even run when one of the other dragons, the green one, Jon couldn’t remember it’s name, flew overhead. 

It was a routine they repeated for the next three days.

 

On the third day, just as the sun was setting and just as Jon was giving up hope of seeing her for yet another day with no news, he saw black wings on the horizon.  _ Drogon _ . Jon’s heart lept at the sight and he was so happy she was returning, he didn’t take notice of the way Drogon’s flapping was slightly off, his right wing joint not making as fluid of movements as his left.

The dragon flew right over Jon and Ghost and the direwolf glued himself to Jon’s side, though he didn’t run. He, like Jon, probably figured he wouldn’t make it very far if he did. Drogon circled up above and landed hard several yards away but immediately rushed Jon and Ghost, stopping feet from them and letting out an intimidating roar. Jon stood his ground, looking the dragon face on. Drogon’s snout got closer and closer and Jon realized he was trying to smell him. He had shown Daenerys what to do when it was Ghost. Now Jon knew he had to do the same. Taking off his glove and telling Ghost to  _ stay _ , Jon lifted his hand and waited as the dragon’s snout inched forward. 

Jon didn’t think his heart had ever beat so quickly and he suddenly realized he could very well be eaten in a few moments. He kept his eyes on Drogon’s massive teeth as the dragon snarled and sniffed. But to Jon’s immense surprise and relief, the dragon slowly lowered his head and Jon tentatively laid a hand on his snout. Drogon’s scales quivered and he blinked at Jon slowly, much like Ghost did when he scratched behind the wolf’s ears. 

And that was it. Just like that, Jon felt part of the pack. Not wanting to push his luck, he slipped his hand away and looked for Daenerys, ready to give her a smirk. But Jon had been so distracted by the fact that a gigantic dragon had just rushed him on a cliff, he hadn’t noticed Drogon was riderless. Daenerys was nowhere to be found. 

Jon turned on the spot to look out to the horizon again, then back to Drogon, horrified.  _ Where the fuck was she? _ If Jon’s heart was pounding before, that was nothing compared to what it was doing now. He looked to Ghost as if he might have answers but the direwolf simply stared at Drogon warily.  _ What happened? _

_ Oddly intelligent creatures _ , Tyrion had commented once over dinner. “Daenerys,” Jon shouted, his voice nearly lost to the wind. Drogon’s head tilted to his right side, as if to look and see that his mother wasn’t on his back. But then Jon noticed something. Drogon’s wing joint. There was a half broken spear lodged in his scales.  _ Shit _ . The dragon looked back to him and Jon did the only useful thing he could think in that moment, still in utter shock at what was happening. 

Slowly, he approached Drogon’s wing and the dragon lowered his shoulder, knowing he meant to help. Jon put his glove back on and gripped the broken edge of the spear. The first tentative tug did nothing but make Drogon screech in pain.  _ Shit! _ What could have done this to a dragon? He had heard the story of the fighting pits in Meereen when Drogon came to Daenerys’s rescue and how the Sons of the Harpy had tossed spears at him. But Drogon had probably been half the size he was now, according to Jorah. And he would have been in the air, Jon guessed, when this one was thrown.  _ What the fuck happened to Daenerys? _

A few more forceful tugs and the spear came loose. Drogon immediately reared up then and took to the air, flying across the island to where he and his brothers usually slept. Jon stood there for a moment, Ghost coming up to his side and nudging one hand with his nose, the spear still in Jon’s other hand. This was bad. This was incredibly bad.

 

He shook his head when Missandei offered him a cup of wine. She breathed, nodded and drained the cup herself, tears in her eyes. This couldn’t be how it ended. This couldn’t be it. Daenerys was the one who was promised. She woke dragons from stone. She could step through fire. She was the last Targaryen. She couldn’t be gone. There was so much he hadn’t told her yet. He had never told her how he knew Aemon at Castle Black, her last living relative. He hadn’t got the chance to tell her what he learned of her brother Rhaegar and his aunt Lyanna and how they had been married. She hadn’t seen Drogon approach him and let him pet him. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be real.

Tyrion sat on the steps of the dais, head in his hands. Jon sat with an arm wrapped around Ghost who lay by his side. Sam sat next to him, a comforting hand rested on his shoulder. Jorah was nowhere to be found. And Varys paced the length of the room. Finally after probably his hundredth turn of the room, Varys stopped.

“They should have been back by now,” he said solemnly. Jon gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to hear this. 

“If she sailed back with them, they may have taken a longer route so as to avoid Euron’s ships,” Tyrion pointed out. 

“We need to begin planning for the worst,” Varys reasoned. He looked to Jon but Jon turned away. No. He wouldn’t accept it. He refused to believe she was gone. He also refused to acknowledge where Varys was going with this talk. “In a few days, our armies will take King’s Landing. Cersei will be dealt with. The Iron Throne will be vacant. If you don’t take it, someone else will. My guess is Petyr Baelish. He loves to seize opportunities. And if you think he will do a better job at uniting the country than Cersei, perhaps you’re not fit to sit it.” 

“No one will accept me as their King, Varys, I’m a  _ bastard _ . And Daenerys could still—”

“We don’t know whether she’s alive or dead. We need to talk about this. And I seem to remember several of our allies wondering about the possibility of a King Jon Snow. Olenna Tyrell. Ellaria Sand. I’m sure Edmure would quickly sway his support to you as your sister is his niece. The Vale as well. And you’re of the North. We defeat the Boltons and the northerners swear fealty to you like they would have never done for Cersei.” 

Jon stood. This was too much. He couldn’t take it.  _ I shall wear no crowns _ . His Night’s Watch vows. But he wasn’t in the Night’s Watch anymore. And the dead were marching south as they spoke, headed for Eastwatch. Why did everything have to happen at once? 

“Varys is right,” Tyrion rasped. “We have to act quickly.” Missandei’s cheeks were tear stained but she nodded as well. “We should sail for King’s Landing tomorrow.” Jon turned and looked to the throne of Dragonstone. She was supposed to be sitting there. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t the plan. His hands clenched to fists and he looked down at Ghost, the seemingly only normal being in the room who wasn’t asking him to become King of the Seven Kingdoms. 

“And you can’t say you don’t have a claim,” Sam pitched in. “Rhaegar and Lyanna.” Tyrion nodded and so did Varys. Gilly had finally explained it to Sam and the rest of the castle knew soon after. “You’d be Rhaegar’s nephew by law. Better claim than Cersei anyway.” Jon closed his eyes, praying to the old gods, the new gods, the lord of light, any of the fuckers who would listen, asking them for help, asking them what he should do. 

Suddenly Ghost rushed to the doors of the throne room, tail aloft.  _ Voices _ . Jon turned around and the doors opened. Theon, several other Ironborn, and a few of the Dothraki that had been keeping patrol along the beach filtered into the room. They carried a stretcher. Jon pushed Varys and Tyrion out of the way to get to her. 

“Get the maester!” Tyrion shouted and Missandei ran from the room and Sam rushed forward. 

She looked so small and pale. Her left shoulder was covered in bloody bandages. Gently they set her down and backed away so Sam could examine her but Jon knelt by her side. Blinking unfocused eyes, she found his face and Jon felt his throat tighten, a few tears slipping down his cheeks. He gripped her hand and touched his fingers to her temple. 

“Dany,” was the first thing that came out of his mouth and he wasn’t even sure why but it felt like the only thing he could say in that moment.

“Jon,” she breathed. And then her eyes shut and she lost consciousness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting comments on last chapter. But I'm continuing with the story I had originally planned. Hopefully this new chapter will show the direction this story is headed in.


	15. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys awakens and Jon tells her of a secret family connection.

“I should behead for disobeying my orders,” Jon spat. Sam and the castle maester had cleaned and stitched up Daenerys’s wounds easily enough. An arrow to her left shoulder. Seven hells. If it had been any lower...Jon’s fingers itched to raise up and touch his crescent shaped scar but he ignored the impulse, staring daggers at Theon. But to his surprise, Theon looked on defiantly.

“I wasn’t following your orders. I was following the queen’s,” he said calmly.

“And who do you think it was who made me commander?” Jon bellowed, and this time Theon did flinch, just a little. “Daenerys put me in charge of all military decisions and I specifically said not to go, didn’t I? I told you and I told her.” Jon was breathing heavy, his nostrils flared in fury. He didn’t care the decision to go save Yara was probably mostly Daenerys’s. Theon had gone along, knowingly putting her at risk. “Do you realize what you could have cost us?”

“The queen knew the potential gain outweighed the risk she was taking,” Theon told him, as if this was enough to justify their actions. “She knew it would be difficult but she wanted to do it anyway.”

“Aye, she knew. But so did you. You’re lucky that arrow hadn’t hit her heart because if it had, we’d all have been fucked. What would we have done if Daenerys died, hmm?” Theon couldn’t give an answer.  _ What would I have done if she died? _ Jon thought. Their contingency plan had almost come to fruition and Jon had known what needed to be done. But the thought of going to King’s Landing without her...the idea sickened him.

“Lord Snow,” Tyrion butted in, and Jon knew he would say something to try to defuse the situation but he didn’t want him to. He wanted to rage at Theon. Daenerys still hadn’t woken up and it was partly his fault. “No doubt what Greyjoy did was reckless and stupid. But as he was acting on the queen’s orders, perhaps we should wait until she awakens to decide his punishment.”  _ Damn him _ .

Jon took several deep, steadying breaths, trying not to picture the blood soaked bandages that had covered Daenerys’s arm as they had carried her in. “You are confined to quarters until further notice,” Jon growled, wanting desperately to hit Theon instead of sending him away. “Go. Now!” Theon turned on his heel immediately and left the throne room.

“Lord Snow,” Tyrion began but Jon cut him off. 

“Not now Tyrion!” He had been away from her for long enough. He didn’t care what the maester said, he didn’t care how late it was. He would stay by her side until she awoke. 

When Jon walked into her chambers, Ser Jorah was at her bedside, holding her hand in a way that made Jon, if possible, even angrier. But Jon also knew Jorah didn’t deserve his wrath right now so with every bit of restraint he possessed, Jon spoke in his calmest voice. 

“It’s late, Ser Jorah. You should go back to your chambers and get some rest.” His words and voice might have been polite but his eyes and balled fists, he hoped, communicated to Jorah that he should leave immediately. Jorah pursed his lips but nodded stiffly. “I’ll let you know when she wakes,” Jon continued, his voice less harsh. “She’ll be eager to see you, I’m sure.” 

With that, Jorah left and Jon took his place by Daenerys’s bedside, holding one of her hands in both of his. She looked so small and frail. Her hair a matted, bloody mess, braids all askew. Her arms and face bruised. Theon said when she fell from Drogon after being hit by the arrow, she must have been fifty, seventy feet in the air. Drogon had been so frantic when she plunged into the sea, he hadn’t seen the spear hurling towards him from the scorpion device they kept on Euron’s flagship. He had burned the ship down after that, but it had been no use. Yara and Euron had not been on board.  _ Smart _ , Jon thought. They had done exactly what he predicted they would do. Euron’s flagship was merely a decoy of sorts. And he and Yara could have been on any one of his other thousand ships. Or weren’t on any ship at all. They really could be anywhere. 

Daenerys’s hand stirred, her fingers gripping his. He looked up just in time to see her eyes flutter open. As their gazes met, Jon felt about fifty different emotions course through him. But the one that settled as recognition dawned on her face was relief. She was alive. “How angry were you?” was the first thing she asked in a scratchy voice and Jon closed his eyes. He may have been relieved, but he was  _ still _ angry with her. “How angry  _ are _ you, I mean,” she clarified. 

But Jon just sighed and shook his head. “Now’s not the time. You just focus on getting better.” She rubbed his knuckles with her thumb and he savored her warmth. 

“I’m sorry Jon,” she rasped. “When we couldn’t find his ships that first day, I knew we’d made a mistake.”

“Where were they?” Jon couldn’t stop himself from asking. Now wasn’t the time to talk strategy but it puzzled him too much to ignore. 

“We caught them in the Narrow Sea. Near the Broken Arm of Dorne. They were sailing east. Like they wanted to avoid us as we had tried to avoid them when the Greyjoys sailed to Sunspear.” Jon nodded though that didn’t make much sense to him. They barely had any ships. Why would Euron need to avoid them?

“What happened around here while I was gone?” She prompted. Jon couldn’t help rolling his eyes at her. She had left him Lord Regent in her stead without telling him. She had to have known it would have been received with much surprise to say the least.

“We’re going to take King's Landing. Edmure and the Unsullied are sailing up to The Wall—.”

“What?” She asked shocked. He raised an eyebrow at her. She had to have known decisions would be made in her absence. 

“Got a raven from my sister. My brother Bran now apparently has the sight. He had a vision that the army of the dead were marching on The Wall near Eastwatch by the Sea. We need to act. And defending The Wall is more important than holding an empty castle.” Daenerys closed her eyes but nodded in agreement. 

“You made some tough calls while I was gone,” she commented. 

Jon raised an eyebrow. “Someone had to.”

“I’m glad it was you. And I’m glad you were here.” She attempted to shift in her bed but inhaled sharply and winced in pain. 

“Hey, stay still,” Jon murmured. “You’ll tear your stitches.” She looked like she was about to protest but yawned instead. “It’s late,” he started, reluctantly admitting to himself he should probably leave to let her rest. He sighed and attempted to pull his hand away from hers but she held onto him, making Jon’s heart skip a beat. 

“I dreamt of you every night I was gone,” she told him softly. His heartbeat picked up again and he suddenly remembered all that had gone on aside from the politics while she was away. 

“Daenerys—”

“Not Dany?” she asked smiling. So she  _ had _ heard him earlier when they first brought her in. She had lost consciousness so quickly, he couldn’t be sure. 

“It just slipped out,” he told her honestly. “If it bothers you, I won’t say it again.” 

She considered him a moment. “No,” she told him finally. “I like when you say it.” 

He smiled at her, his heart feeling lighter. He entwined their fingers together and thought back to his dreams again and what Gilly had found in the Citadel. How to tell her? “Did you happen to notice the man who was here helping the maester stitch you up earlier?” he began. When she shook her head, he continued. “He’s my friend Samwell Tarly. The one who was at the Citadel training to be a maester—”

“The one who was looking for a cure for Jorah?”  _ Shit _ . He hadn’t told her about Jorah either. And he had promised Jorah he would let him know when she woke. It was already so late and he needed to tell her this before they had anymore distractions. But he knew how much Jorah meant to her. “He did cure Jorah. He’s here too.”

“What?” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears and a smile broke across her face. “Where is he?” she asked. 

“It was late when they finished with you. I told him to get some rest. If you want, I can go wake him…” Jon trailed off, hoping she would say  _ no _ .

“If he’s asleep, I don’t want to wake him. It can wait til morning,” she said quietly. Jon internally sighed with relief. “What about your friend?”

“Well, actually it’s Gilly. I told you about her and her baby…” he trailed off and Daenerys nodded. “She was reading one of the books Sam was meant to be transcribing. And it mentioned your brother, Rhaegar.”

“Rhaegar?” she shifted herself up on the pillows, wincing but too intrigued by his words to care much. “What about him?”

“Well, everything I grew up hearing about him was apparently wrong,” Jon began. Daenerys’s eyebrows twitched upward in question. “We had always heard...well...that Rhaegar kidnapped my aunt Lyanna.”

“He loved Lady Stark, he didn’t kidnap her,” Daenerys argued. 

“How do you know that?” Jon asked. Surely no one in the Seven Kingdoms ever told such a story, least of all people in the North.

“Viserys told me of Robert’s Rebellion, what he could remember of it anyway, he was young when it happened. He said Rhaegar died fighting for the woman he loved.”

“Died fighting for his wife,” Jon corrected her, finally telling her the truth. 

“What?” Daenerys asked again, puzzled.

“They were married,” Jon explained, still in just as much shock as she looked. “The book from the Citadel Gilly was reading...it was a high septon’s diary. The septon had performed an annulment of Rhaegar’s first marriage to Elia Martell and married him to Lyanna at the same time. Apparently it was all very secretive. The ceremony was somewhere in Dorne.” Daenerys shook her head in disbelief. 

“I never knew…”

“I don’t think anyone knew...except High Septon Maynard. And Rhaegar and Lyanna. The strange thing is though,” Jon started to add but stopped. This was the part he was hesitant to tell her about. But she had dreamt of him. He felt he had to tell her this too. “The night before Gilly and Sam and Jorah arrived on Dragonstone, I had a dream about Rhaegar kidnapping Lyanna.”

“You did?” Daenerys breathed. Her unnatural interest only made Jon want to tell her even more. 

“Only, I was Rhaegar...and...you were Lyanna.” He paused awkwardly and she smiled. “But I hadn’t kidnapped you. We just ran away. Ran to The Wall. Then we were in the crypts of Winterfell and...there was a crown of winter roses and...and then the dream ended,” he finished telling her as many details of it as he could remember. But no, that wasn’t all. There was the story too...the story Ygritte had told him. “Another odd thing,” he went on, “it was just like this story someone told me once...one of the free folk I met beyond The Wall. She told this story of a wildling singer...he went to Winterfell and ran off with a Stark maiden. But they didn’t run off, they just hid in the crypts of Winterfell. She returned to her bed a year later with his child. Isn’t that strange?” Jon mused. But Daenerys gave him a serious look.

“My brother sang…” she trailed off, reminiscing. “Ser Barristan Selmy...he told me Rhaegar liked to walk the streets of King’s Landing and sing to the people. He played a harp as well—”

“The singer from the tale carried a harp,” Jon choked. A shiver went down Jon’s back as he sat there and watched Daenerys’s eyes grow wide and her breathing go shallow. As her chest heaved heavily, Jon felt his skin erupt in gooseflesh. “In the tale,” Jon continued, his voice uneven, “the singer was given a blue winter rose. Rhaegar gave Lyanna a crown of winter roses at the tourney they met at...have you heard…?”

“Jon, I…” Her breaths were coming in pants now and she looked like she was struggling to piece something together in her mind. “Jon another vision I had at the House of the Undying in Qarth...there was a winter rose.”

“The crown your brother gave my aunt?” Jon asked.

“No…” she trailed off. She took a shuddering breath. “In my vision...the rose was growing out of...out of The Wall. But that doesn’t make any sense, nothing can grow out of The Wall, can it?” Jon shook his head, mind reeling again. 

“It’s solid ice,” he said in a hollow voice. 

“Jon this...this is important, isn’t it?” she whispered. All Jon could do was nod and grip her hand tighter. This  _ was _ important, somehow he just knew it. It was as if Jon were dancing around something and he was so close he just couldn’t put it all together. “What does it mean?” Daenerys asked, her voice quivering. 

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I don’t know.” They were quiet for several minutes, both staring off, looking at nothing in particular. But as Daenerys’s fingers brushed his knuckles again and she gave a yawn, he knew now it was  _ really _ time for him to leave. “You should get some rest,” he told her softly, though he didn’t want to go.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she admitted. “Can you stay?” she nearly whispered. Jon exhaled slowly, looking around the room, unsure of what she meant and not wanting to get his hopes up. “Here,” she breathed, nodding to the pillow next to her. As she looked at up at him with those big round lilac eyes of hers, Jon’s stomach did little flips in excitement. He knew he should go. She needed her rest and he would probably just be a distraction. But especially after all they had talked about and all that had happened over the last few days, he wanted to be near her more. “Please,” she insisted.

Jon nodded, his heart pounding. She watched him eagerly as he undressed but he was careful to leave on his linen tunic. That was one conversation they didn’t need to have tonight. Though as Jon slid his boots off and crawled into bed next to her, he realized he did want to tell her about what happened to him, his scars and why he had them. Another time though. 

She reached for him automatically, and he wrapped his arms around her in response, feeling as if they belonged like that. How had this happened? The queen and the bastard. Was his whole love life a sum of silly mummers songs? The Night’s Watchman and the wildling. Sand and Snow. Queen and Bastard. But as she gazed up at him with those bright lilac eyes, he didn’t much care. They could be a song.  

“Goodnight Daenerys,” he told her quietly, ignoring the familiar, pleasant pull of the muscles in his stomach, his eyelids suddenly feeling like lead. She didn’t respond but caressed his face and attempted to pull him into her but he leaned back, smiling. 

“We shouldn’t.” At her confused expression, he went on. “Your arm,” he nodded to her stitches from the arrow. “Even queens don’t have the power to make their wounds heal at their command.” She gave him a reluctant smile in return. 

“Goodnight Jon,” she whispered and tucked her head under his chin. He have her another squeeze and touched his lips to her forehead, unable to resist the urge to kiss her. He knew they were playing a dangerous game. This wasn’t something that would last, whatever it was. He couldn’t keep her. But for now, she was asleep in his arms. And he didn’t want to be anywhere else. 

 

That night, with Daenerys curled up against him, Jon had his strangest and most disturbing dream yet since landing on Dragonstone. 

_ Dorne _ . It was Rhaegar and Lyanna’s secret wedding. Jon couldn’t help but notice the slight protrusion of Lyanna’s belly under her gown. Was that why they had married? Was she already pregnant? If Lyanna had been pregnant with Rhaegar’s child, Jon would have had a cousin. Was it possible? How odd. But...something was amiss. Lyanna, who Jon knew was said to look a bit like his sister Arya, had blonde hair and lilac eyes. And Rhaegar was dark featured, Stark featured. It was him. And her. Jon. And Daenerys. The High Septon wrapped the silk around their hands and they looked upon each other and said the words.  _ Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his. I am hers. He is mine. She is mine. From this day, until the end of my days. _ Jon kissed her and touched his hand to Daenerys’s belly as he did so, feeling a thrill at the little kick beneath his fingers. But as he embraced her and rejoiced in their joining, he couldn’t help but wonder why they had had this wedding ceremony. Jon was of the North. He followed the old gods. They should have been before a weirwood tree. Perhaps Daenerys followed the seven. He asked her.  _ There are no gods, Jon. Just us _ . Jon was reminded of a saying he had once heard about the Targaryens.  _ Like their dragons, the Targaryens answered to neither gods nor men.  _ He touched her belly again.  _ Am I a dragon now _ , he asked her. She smiled.  _ You’ve always been a dragon, Jon _ . He turned to the septon then and realized, startled, that it was his father, just as he had been the day they departed Winterfell together for their separate journeys.  _ You may not have my name, but you have my blood _ . Jon looked down and his chest was red, blood pouring from the old crescent shaped scar above his heart.  _ Only a dragon can kill another dragon _ , Daenerys told him, holding the shard of dragonglass, bloody from having been lodged in his chest. Blood continued to pump out of him with each thud of his heart, trickling down his tunic, his trousers, pooling at his feet. But Jon didn’t feel the blood leave him as he had the night he had been stabbed by his brothers in the Night’s Watch. He felt...fire. Burning, his skin, everything was burning. He reached out and touched Daenerys and she was ice cold. He looked around him again and they were no longer in Dorne but a clearing in a forest made up completely of weirwood trees. And the Night King and army of the dead were encroaching on them, getting ever closer and he knew what he had to do. Tears streaming down his face he unsheathed Longclaw and she knelt before him, eyes closed, hands gripping the small protrusion of her belly. And with an anguished cry he plunged his sword into her heart.  _ Only a dragon can kill another dragon _ . As he extracted the sword her blood that covered the blade caught fire, a bright orange-red. He turned to face the army of the dead and the Night King...but they were gone. He turned back to Daenerys but she wasn’t Daenerys any longer, she was...his mother. Horrified, Jon dropped Longclaw and knelt at her side, taking her hand in his. There was blood everywhere, she was covered in it. He knew she didn’t have long left and she was whispering something, tears in her eyes. He bent closer to hear... _ You have to protect him. Promise me. Promise me... _ Someone tapped Jon’s shoulder and he turned to find Daenerys, beautiful and radiant and whole as ever, a small bundle in her arms. She handed it to him and wrapped in the blankets, their  _ son _ .  _ Promise me _ , his mother begged.  _ Promise me _ . Jon felt the tears pool in his eyes. Of course he would protect his son.  _ I promise _ , he swore and with that, she faded. Jon looked up for Daenerys again and it was her...but it wasn’t her. She was Lyanna again, and he was Rhaegar. They embraced, it was still their wedding day, the only thing Jon held being the silk that the septon had used to wrap their hands together. As Jon felt the daylight pulling him from unconscious abyss, he wondered briefly why, since arriving on Dragonstone, in his dreams, he always seemed to be Rhaegar…

 

Something soft and warm was caressing his face and his arms were wrapped around something equally comforting.  _ Daenerys _ . He slowly blinked his eyes open to find her studying him, her fingers dancing over his eyebrows, her own creased in concentration.

“Something wrong?” he asked her, his voice thick with sleep. She didn’t speak right away but continued to gaze upon him, her eyes skating over his eyes, his nose, his lips. After several moments, she must have realized he had asked her something and she shook her head slowly in answer. “Do you need anything? Want me to get you something? Breakfast, water?” 

She thought for a moment, as if determine whether she wanted to tell him something or not. In the end, she must have decided against it. “Varys. I need a private audience with Lord Varys.”  


	16. King's Landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Targaryen reach the capital and make preparations to take the city.

“I never asked you,” Jon started, approaching a apprehensive looking Davos on the bow of the Targaryen flagship. “Why did you ask Lady Melisandre to try and bring me back.” Jon had known it was Davos who had played a big role in his resurrection, but until now, he had never properly asked him why. To Jon’s surprise, Davos got an oddly shameful look on his face and hung his head. “What is it?” Jon pressed.

Davos sighed, the fingers of his mangled hand twitching in his glove. “Did I ever tell you about a lad Melisandre brought to Dragonstone by the name of Gendry?” Jon shook his head. Davos sighed again and went on. “This boy, he was Robert Baratheon’s bastard son. And according to Melisandre, king’s blood has magical powers. Power to create. Power to destroy…” As he spoke, Jon’s heart thudded painfully in his chest, and he thought back to his days as Lord Commander. Melisandre had tried to seduce him, telling  _ him _ there was power within him.  _ Power to make life, power to make light _ . Jon shook away the memory, intent on listening to Ser Davos’s story. “She placed three leeches on him to take his blood. And Stannis then threw them one by one into the flames, saying a name for each. The usurper Balon Greyjoy. The usurper Joffrey Baratheon. And...the usurper Robb Stark.” Davos paused and shifted uncomfortably as realization started to dawn on Jon. Balon, Joffrey, Robb...they were all dead. “Not long after that, your brother was the first to fall...at the Red Wedding.” Jon pursed his lips, trying not to think of what had been done to his brother that night but it was difficult. Robb had only been doing what he thought was right and he was murdered by people he thought he could trust...just as Jon had. Only, Robb didn’t get to come back. “Balon Greyjoy was a terrible human being. Sending his men to the mainland, reaping and raping. Joffrey, what he did to your family. But Robb Stark...he was only trying to avenge your father. I know he did nothing wrong. And I know there’s nothing can be done to make up for what happened to him. I told Stannis we shouldn’t have fought a war with blood magic but he didn’t listen. Now he’s dead too. But you. I know you feel like you failed. You didn’t. What you did, letting the wildlings south of The Wall, it was the right thing to do and no one else would have had the stones to do it. Trying to bring you back wouldn’t make up for all that had happened to your family. But I figured it was a start. And I knew we needed you if we had any hope to survive the winter.” 

They stood there for several long moments, cool seaspray whipping their faces. They would be at King’s Landing in a few hours. Scouts they sent off that morning reported back that the seas were clear, no sign of Euron or his fleet. They’d reach their armies camped outside at the Tourney Grounds and then they would take the city. Either with the help of the city watch...or by force. 

“When I first came back,” Jon began, “I didn’t think I should be here. I didn’t think it was right. But I am grateful for it. And I never properly thanked you for that.”

Davos gave a small chuckle. “Anything for the  _ prince that was promised _ ,” he quipped and Jon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He still had no better understanding of that than when he had first heard Melisandre say it. 

“Did she ever tell you why...why she thought it was me? Was it just because she was able to bring me back?” Jon asked suddenly curious. 

“I don’t know,” Davos told him honestly. “She thought it was Stannis before you...but you didn’t pull a sword out of flames so I have no idea.”

“Pull a sword out of flames?” Jon got out, bits of his dream from a few days ago coming back to him. Daenerys...his mother…

“That’s one of the signs,” Davos said as if this were explanation enough.

“Signs of what?” Jon demanded, now thoroughly engrossed in the topic. Davos raised an eyebrow at him but went on. 

“I don’t remember all the words...but something in the prophecy about wielding a flaming sword. An old pirate friend of mine told me a tale about Azor Ahai and how he forged it.”

“How did he do it?” 

Davos gave Jon another odd, suspicious look but began to tell the tale anyway. “It was during the first long night, I think. This Azor Ahai was going to make a sword that would fight the Others. Sword of heroes or something like that. He spent a few days...I can’t remember how long, making this sword. He went to temper it in water and it broke. So he spent a bit longer on the second sword and tempered it by piercing the heart of a lion. Sword broke then too. So then he took...I dunno, something like a hundred days making the new sword. And he called for his wife, I can’t remember her name. She knelt before him and bared her chest and he drove the sword through her heart. And when he pulled it out, it was aflame. Lightbringer. Stannis pulled his sword out of a pyre so I guess the Lord of Light isn’t particular. Then again, Stannis is dead.” 

Jon stood there reeling. In his dream he had driven a sword through Daenerys’s heart and it was set aflame. That couldn’t be how to defeat the Night King. It was too horrible. Jon couldn’t have been this prince who was promised. He didn’t even know how to smith a sword. And he knew he would never be able to do...do what he had done in his dream. Never.

“It’s just as well though,” Davos commented. Jon furrowed his brow. “What good’s a flaming sword when you said Valyrian steel kills the walkers?” Jon’s mouth popped open but he didn’t know how to respond. “And not as if worked anyway,” Davos added.

“What do you mean?” Jon asked.

“This Azor Ahai person. He didn’t defeat the walkers. They’re still around. They just disappeared for a few thousand years and now we’ve got to deal with ‘em. Seems like a load of horse shit to me. Then again, most pirate’s tales are.”  Davos gave him a nod and went off to talk to the captain about where they would be anchoring. Jon had to give a little laugh as he watched Davos walk away. For a former smuggler from Flea Bottom who only just learned to read a few years ago, Jon thought Davos might be cleverer than over half the men he’d ever known. 

 

That night in the camp outside the city gates, Jon, Tyrion, Varys, Jorah, Theon - now released on the queen’s orders - the queen, and the commander of the King’s Landing City Watch, Humfrey Waters, sat in Jon’s tent around a map of the city, the map now lying forgotten as they all talked. Davos however, had told Jon as soon as they arrived at the camp that he had someone to meet with and wouldn’t be back until late. 

“T-two thousand my lord?” Waters stuttered at Jon, his face full of concern.

“If we are able to enter the city safely as you say Commander Waters, your men have nothing to fear. They’ll be given the opportunity to swear their loyalty to the queen once she sits the Iron Throne and also retain their positions in the City Watch.” Tyrion pursed his lips and nodded in approval. What Jon didn’t say and didn’t  _ need _ to say was that if anything should happen to the queen as they entered the city, the two thousand city watchmen would lose their jobs as well as their heads. Waters knew. And he would be one of them.

“And what have you heard of my sister, Commander Waters?” Tyrion asked. This was the real fight, Jon knew. Getting into King’s Landing with the support of the gold cloaks and the people would be easy. Taking the Red Keep would be another problem entirely. 

“She’s been holed up in Maegor’s Holdfast for the last few weeks. No one has gone in or come out since your armies set up outside the city gates. She’s also ordered the closure of all known underground passageways in and out of the Red Keep so there’s no way inside unless they lower the drawbridge.”

Varys nodded in acknowledgement. “My little birds have told me every known passage into the castle is closed off. It won’t be easy if Cersei wishes to make this a fight.”

“It’s my sister. Of course she will make this a fight,” Tyrion let out with a hint of sarcasm. 

“Well, we can’t walk into the Red Keep…” Daenerys began but Jon sighed in frustration. They had talked about this too many times.

“You can’t fly in either,” Jon reminded her. “You’re injured. And we know they have weapons that can take the dragons down. Besides, it would only be you in the castle against all of Cersei’s queensguard. Not odds I’m fond of.” Daenerys let out a huff of frustration. If Jon suspected she was fierce before her injury, he knew it for a certainty now. Despite her shoulder, she still insisted on flying from Dragonstone to the Kingswood while they sailed earlier that day. Although that decision had made sense to Jon. She wanted the dragons to give the city a wide berth so as to avoid Cersei’s terrible scorpion weapons. Now that the dragons were safely on the mainland though, he hoped they wouldn’t have much to worry about.

They continued to talk at length about their strategy to take the Red Keep. Several seemingly clever ideas were floated about the tent but the only thing that made any real sense was just brute force. They would have to fight their way in. The castle soldiers would prepare pitch and arrows and the like and the Targaryen forces would have to give it right back to them until they were successful. Jon didn’t like the plan. But it was all they had. 

After the council was dismissed, Theon lingered behind. “Your Grace, Commander Snow, if I could have a word?” he asked. Daenerys snuck a look back at Jon seeming just as puzzled as he was. 

“Make it brief Greyjoy,” Jon told him. Though Theon had suffered no consequences for his actions that nearly got the queen killed, Jon still hadn’t forgiven him and having him in his presence was a test of his patience. 

“Tomorrow you will take King’s Landing and sit the Iron Throne,” he began nodding to Daenerys. “When you do, you won’t have much need for me at court. I ask that you give me leave to find and rescue my sister. Once I’ve found Yara, we will both return to your service.” 

Daenerys’s face fell guiltily. They had already tried to rescue Yara once before and failed, nearly getting her and Drogon killed. Theon by himself wouldn’t be any better off. “Theon, I know you care about your sister. She’s a good woman and I am grateful for her help and support in all this. But we have no idea where she is. We don’t know where Euron is. We just don’t have the means or resources right now to go find her.”

“I’m not asking for anything,” Theon went on. “Just a horse. There’s someone I mean to call on who I think can help. If what I’ve heard is true, I’ll be able to find both Euron and Yara. And his fleet will finally be yours.” 

“Who do you mean to seek help from?” Jon asked confused. Surely there was no one else better to help than the mother of dragons and their plan didn’t work. Who else would be able to do what Daenerys couldn’t?

“I’d rather not say,” Theon shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve done terrible things in my past. And I haven’t earned forgiveness for half of them. I need to change that. Please give me leave. I’ll go tonight, if you’ll allow me.”

Jon and Daenerys exchanged looks. There was nothing to be lost from sending Theon away. And everything to be gained. Jon felt a pang of guilt Theon wasn’t asking for anything more than a horse. Who in the world did he mean to seek help from? Daenerys gave Jon the smallest of nods and then turned back to the Iron Islander. 

“Theon, take whatever resources you require. We can spare a small host of men—” Jon began but Theon shook his head. 

“They’ll only slow me down. Just a horse. Thank you Commander Snow. My queen.” With that Theon bowed and turned to leave.

“Theon,” Jon stopped him and held out his hand. “I wish you good fortune.” Theon gripped Jon’s forearm in return with a single nod and exited the tent. 

Once she was sure Theon was out of earshot, Dany spoke. “Who do you think he means to call on?” She asked. 

“No idea. Not the Ironborn likely. Horseback. Where could he be going? No one in the Seven Kingdoms has much love for the Iron Islanders. He has no friends on the mainland.” Dany pursed her lips, just as confused as he was. 

She stood with her hands on the table, hips leaning into it, her eyes wandering, lost in thought. They hadn’t been alone together since the night she returned to Dragonstone and since he knew she was well enough to fly on dragonback from the island to the Kingswood, she had to be well enough to continue what they started that night.

But just as Jon began to make his way toward her, she pushed away from the table, the glaze leaving her eyes. “I should be getting back to my tent I suppose.” 

“Are you avoiding me?” Jon asked immediately, almost regretting it but not just yet. He supposed he would only regret the question depending on her answer.

“No,” she told him, brow furrowed. “Why would you think that?” But he couldn’t answer her. Wasn’t even sure if he could look at her. What was he doing? This was so idiotic. He knew they couldn’t do this. He was her commander and she was his queen. The one night he had stayed in her chambers was more than he ever should have dared hope for. 

“What did you want with Varys?” was all he could think to say. 

“What do you mean?” Dany asked, seeming genuinely confused. Though Jon wasn’t entirely sure he believed it. 

“The morning after you arrived back at Dragonstone,” Jon began. He had attempted to piece it together himself since that morning. Why had she sought the spider’s council after waking up next to him, after all they had spoken of the night before? But as of yet, Jon could come up with nothing, so he was forced to finally ask her. “We woke up and...and the first thing that came out of your mouth was Varys. You wanted to see him. Why?”

Dany sighed and shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. He was of no help anyway.”

“What did you need help with?” Jon pressed.

She took another deep breath and sunk into a seat by the brazier. “I asked him about Rhaegar...and Lyanna.” Jon stared at her a moment, then nodded, taking the seat opposite her. “Rhaegar died at the Trident, slain by Robert Baratheon. But Lyanna died not long after. Why?” She voiced it as a rhetorical question but Jon answered anyway.

“A fever. Wasn’t it? That’s what I’ve always heard, at least.”

“That’s what Varys said as well.” She leaned back in the chair, her eyes closed.

“You think differently?” Jon asked, getting back up again to hunt for his carafe of wine. Once he found it, he gestured to the two glasses in his hand and she nodded. She took the wine glass from him gratefully but studied him a moment before she answered.

“Something just...doesn’t add up. Don’t you feel it?” In truth, Jon had never considered the death of his aunt Lyanna before. He had never considered her much period until arriving at Dragonstone...when he started having the dreams. 

“Maybe...maybe she just died of a broken heart,” Jon said without really thinking of his words. Dany gazed at him through long dark eyelashes, a small smile on her face. 

“Maybe,” she echoed. They sat in silence again, Dany taking occasional sips of wine, staring into the brazier, her expression unreadable. Jon didn’t know what she was thinking or feeling in that moment but she hadn’t left yet. So that small gesture gave him hope that she didn’t want to leave him. 

“If all goes well tomorrow, there’s a possibility I’ll finally reclaim my family’s throne,” she finally said, looking up for the first time in several minutes.

“And how do you feel about that?” Jon asked her.

She smirked. “It feels...anticlimactic actually. There’s so much work to be done. We still need to secure the North and the Westerlands. Deal with Euron’s fleet, even if Theon thinks he can somehow do it singlehandedly. And we’ve got the threat beyond The Wall to worry about as well.” She sighed. “A monarch’s work is never done.” 

“Aye,” Jon agreed. “But you knew that going in.” She smiled again.

“It’s everything I’ve worked for. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms,” she commented. But Jon had to disagree with her.

“You’re not meant to be queen because your father was once the king,” he told her. “You’ll be queen because of the kind of person you are. The kind of leader you are. Not because of your parents. And you’re certainly not anything like them.”

“It was only my father who was mad,” Daenerys reminded him. “My mother wasn’t. Ser Barristan Selmy told me she was the one who shielded my brother from seeing just how terrible my father had become. She was the one who protected Viserys. I wish I had known her,” she trailed off wistfully. Jon understood the desire. “What was your mother like,” she asked him offhandedly. 

“I never knew her, like you,” Jon confessed. Her eyebrows twitched up in a question. “My father...he never told me her name. Never told me...anything about her. The last time we spoke he said we would talk about her when I saw him next. But I never saw him again.”

“I’m so sorry Jon.” She reached over and placed a comforting hand on his knee which he covered with his own automatically. “So you don’t know...where she was from...what she looked like...what family she belonged to, nothing?” 

Jon shook his head, running his thumb over her knuckles. “Nothing. She could have been a noblewoman. Or a fisherman’s wife. Or a whore.” For some reason, as Jon said the words, the phrase Ygritte used to repeat to him all the time came back to him,  _ You know nothing, Jon Snow _ . And it was true. 

“From what I’ve heard of your father, he doesn’t seem like the type to just go visit a brothel,” Dany offered. She set down her wine cup and placed her other hand over his so she was holding it in both of hers. 

“But he dishonored his wife all the same,” Jon pointed out, still stuck on thoughts of his father’s broken promise. “It doesn’t matter who she was. He did it anyway. Even if he was at war and wasn’t sure if he’d survive. He still took a woman to bed that wasn’t Lady Catelyn. Something she never let me forget growing up.” In a different world, perhaps Jon could have been a trueborn son, Ned’s eldest and Lord of Winterfell. Maybe even now, he could have been vying for Daenerys’s hand as a legitimate suitor instead of just an imposter with feelings for her he couldn’t explain and definitely couldn’t justify. 

“Daenerys what…” He looked down at his hand in hers, his heart leaping. “This…it’s not…we can’t. Can we?” he asked her, barely able to articulate his thoughts. But at her creased brow, he thought she understood his meaning. 

“You shouldn’t think of such things,” she told him in a low voice. At his frustrated exhale she went on. “I am a queen. I’ll decide what I can and can’t do.” She let go of his hand to let her fingertips trail across his cheek, over his neck, down his chest…She looked up and they locked eyes, hers dilated and wide. With one quick jerk, he tugged her forward and she clambered into his lap breathing heavily, her hands steadying herself on his shoulders. 

“And what do you  _ want _ to do,  _ my queen? _ ” Jon breathed. Her eyes darted to his lips and back up, her knees settling on either side of his hips, straddling him. Their breaths mingled, chests heaving in time with each other, perfectly synched. Then her lips were on his, and Jon groaned, the suddenness of the contact setting all his nerves alight. Her lips was hot and wet on his, her tongue darting out and coaxing his back into her mouth. He could feel the heat of his blood coursing through him, his skin on fire. Her hands wove their way into his hair, lightly tugging at his locks and nails scraping his skin in a familiar, intimate way, all the while she ground herself against him expertly. Jon didn’t care that they were in a tent and didn’t even have a proper bed. He didn’t care that the canvas walls were thin and anyone passing by would hear. He didn’t care that he was a bastard and that tomorrow she would likely sit the Iron Throne, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and completely out of his reach. Tonight, she was his.  

His hands found their way up her dress and to the laces of her trousers, tugging them free so he could slip his hand inside. As he slid his fingers along her warm, damp flesh, Dany whimpered against his mouth, hips bucking into his hand. She was  _ so _ wet. His cock gave an involuntary twitch at the thought of how easy and quick it would be to slide all the way inside her. She was this wet for  _ him _ . Not some lord or prince or king. She was in  _ his _ lap, moaning against  _ his _ lips and grinding herself on  _ his _ hand, wanting  _ his  _ cock. He started rubbing with his thumb where he knew it would drive her mad, fingers pulsing in and out of her, slowly at first but gaining speed. Her fingers had started to fumble with the buckles of his leathers but as she got closer to her release, the task was forgotten. She broke their kiss and nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder licking and kissing the skin there. Jon’s breathing increased as hers did, wanting to see her come apart at his touch, needing to feel her convulse around him. He was sure she was close. Just a little bit more. He sunk his teeth into Dany’s neck wanting to mark her as his and she gave a little yelp but didn’t pull away, only rode his hand harder until he could feel her start to quiver. Her legs stiffened and her breathing became shallow until she froze in place, a loud, guttural, completely unqueenly like groan escaped her and she became instantly wetter under his touch. He thrust his fingers in and out of her a few more times, unable to hide the wide grin that spread across his face. She pulled away from him and gave a little surprised giggle and he hummed in agreement as her lips found his again. 

“Bed,” she whispered to him. “Take me to bed, Jon Snow.” She kissed him sweetly on the forehead and Jon scooped her in his arms, not needing to be told twice. As he carried her to the cot he heard nail clicks on the dirt outside and stopped. “It’s just Ghost, right?” She asked him, a slight daze in her eyes. 

Jon was about to nod and tell her yes when they heard an unfamiliar voice nearing the tent. “What  _ is  _ that?” A young man asked. 

“The commander’s direwolf. Let’s hope he’s still awake.” Davos.  _ Damn him! _

“ _ Shit _ ,” Jon hissed, setting Daenerys to her feet and she hastily tied her trousers back together and smoothed her dress as Ghost pushed past the flap of the tent. 

“Lord Commander?” Davos called and Jon ground his teeth together. 

“Ser Davos,” Jon near growled, hastily snatching the towel from his washbasin to wipe his fingers off on. A moment later, Davos and a young man Jon didn’t recognize entered the tent behind Ghost. 

“Commander Snow,” Daenerys began in a somewhat shaky voice, starting to retreat toward the tent flap. “Thank you for...for helping me with...for helping plan...for...tomorrow. Goodnight.”

It was all Jon couldn’t do not to roll his eyes in frustration, immensely grateful his leather gambeson was long enough to hide his still throbbing erection. “Anytime, Your Grace,” he got out as she exited his tent. He didn’t not notice the way Davos’s eyebrow shot up at their exchange. Taking a deep, calming breath, Jon turned his full attention to the two men who had just come in. “Ser Davos, I take it this is the person you skipped the war council meeting to find?”

The young man, oddly familiar to Jon in a way, eagerly stepped forward and held out his hand. Jon eyed it warily, thinking back to where his hand had just been. Awkwardly, Jon gripped the man’s forearm and let it go quickly. “Name’s Gendry, Lord Commander. I’m Robert Baratheon’s son. Bastard son.”

Jon’s eyes grew wide, his eyebrows shooting upward. Of all the people he expected Davos to seek out in the city, a former king’s bastard son wasn’t one of them. “We’re not gonna burn him, are we?” Jon couldn’t help but asking, smile on his face. At his words, Gendry took an involuntary step back, making Davos laugh. “To what do we owe the pleasure, Gendry?” Jon asked.

“Ser Davos told me you and the dragon queen--”

“Queen Daenerys,” Jon corrected.

“...told me you and Queen Daenerys are taking the city tomorrow. To overthrow the Lannisters once and for all.”

“That’s the plan,” Jon shuffled his feet.

“I want to help,” Gendry began but Davos cut him off.

“Don’t be a fool. You’re not a soldier.”

“No,” Gendry admitted. “But I’m a fighter. And he won’t be needing a smith with a sword like that,” Gendry nodded to Longclaw, propped against Jon’s cot just behind him.  _ Smith _ . The boy was a  _ smith _ . What was Davos playing at? Gendry turned to Davos. “I owe you my life, twice over. And I’m tired of sitting in my shop making weapons for the family that killed my father. And yours,” he looked to Jon. “I met him once. In my shop. Seemed like a good man.”

“One of the best,” Jon agreed, thinking of Lord Stark. Oddly he wondered what his father would think of him then, working to put a Targaryen back on the Iron Throne when he had fought to overthrow Daenerys’s father. And Robert Baratheon’s son here in his tent asking to help. The irony of it all almost made Jon laugh out loud. But such were the times. “It’s going to be dangerous,” Jon warned Gendry, though he suspected the lad wouldn’t care if he was already here.

“I know. But I’ve gone up against the Lannisters before and I’m still here.” Davos gave him an approving look. 

“Well Gendry,” he began. “I’m gonna go see about finding you a spare tent so you don’t have to go back to the city tonight.” With that, Davos bowed in leave and exited the tent.

“Commander Snow,” Gendry began but Jon waved a hand at the formality. 

“Jon’s fine Gendry. Our fathers were close friends. No need for titles.” The lad smiled at this. 

“Jon. I was wondering...when I left King’s Landing after your father’s murder, I left with the Night’s Watch. A girl was traveling with us. Yoren, the Night’s Watch brother leading us, he was apparently taking the girl home to her family in the north. She later told me she was Arya Stark. Your sister. Is she...did she ever make it home?” Gendry asked.  _ Arya? _ Robert Baratheon’s bastard son. Had met his father when Lord Stark was Hand of the King. And he knew Arya? 

“She did,” Jon got out, amazed at how small the world was sometimes. “I thought she was dead up until a few months ago. But she turned up recently. She’s back in the Riverlands with our sister and younger brother.” At his words, Gendry’s face broke into a relieved smile. 

“I’m glad to hear it. She saved my neck a few times. Fierce little thing, she was.”

“Still is from what I’ve heard.” Gendry chuckled and Jon did as well, though some kind of unsettling feeling pooled in his stomach at the thought of Arya traveling with a group of bastard boys headed for The Wall. 

“Well, I’m going to catch up with Ser Davos. It was great to meet you Lord Commander. Jon,” Gendry corrected himself. “See you at first light.” Jon nodded and Gendry headed out of the tent, leaving Jon with only Ghost to keep him company. Sighing, Jon stripped down to get into bed and only when he pulled his tunic over his head did he remember his scars.  _ Shit _ . He hadn’t at all thought about them when Daenerys was here. How could he have been so foolish? It would have been just like with Yara. She would have got him naked and then his scars would have been the entire focus of their evening from then on. 

Jon shook his head at his forgetfulness. As he turned over to go to sleep, he vowed he would tell her about them before they got carried away like that next time. Then again, she would officially be a queen tomorrow, if all went well. Would there be a next time?

“Gone?” Jon repeated Commander Water’s words back to him as they all stood staring at the city gates, now wide open, the mist of the morning in the Tourney Grounds swirling around their boots. 

“Why does this sound like a trap?” Ser Jorah voiced and Jon nodded in agreement.

“This isn’t like my sister to run away from a fight,” Tyrion reminded everyone. “Cersei wouldn’t just tuck tail.”

“But she has my lord,” Commander Waters insisted. 

“He’s right,” Missandei echoed. “Some of the Dothraki who were posted near the Iron Gate saw her in a skiff on the Blackwater before first light. She was headed for a ship that was waiting in the harbor.” Jon thought a moment. If Cersei had abandoned the castle, they had won. All Daenerys needed to do was sit the throne and Tyrion would crown her Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. But could it really be that easy?

“Ser Jorah, Commander Waters, take a host of two hundred men up to the Red Keep. I want it swept through thoroughly. Lord Varys, I want you to accompany them.” Varys gave Jon a puzzled look. “You know the castle better than anyone. Once you come back with the all clear, we’ll escort the queen through the city.”

Jorah and Commander Waters nodded and left, Varys with them. Tyrion and Daenerys watched as they went, Tyrion stroking his beard thoughtfully. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he said finally.

“Nothing seems to be making much sense these days,” Jon couldn’t help but comment. “Maybe they saw the dragons and decided it wasn’t worth it.”

“That reminds me,” Daenerys said suddenly turning to Ser Davos. “Can you go with them and tell them I want all scorpion devices burned before we enter the city. If they find any. I don’t want to take any chances.” Davos nodded and took off after Jorah and Waters.

“Good thinking,” he told her. Though Jon noticed Daenerys blushed whenever she looked at him that morning, he didn’t find it difficult or awkward looking at her or being around her after what they had done last night. If anything, he couldn’t wait to get her alone again to finish what they had started...if she would let him.

Ghost walked up and nudged Jon’s hand then and he scratched the direwolf behind the ears fondly. Tyrion and Missandei gave their leave and suddenly it was just him and the queen again. “Walk with me, Lord Snow?” Daenerys asked and Jon was eager to grant her request. 

They strolled through the camp, Ghost walking ahead of them and occasionally turning back to see if they were still following him. Daenerys laughed at his playful demeanor. “It’s strange,” she began as they walked along the river. “He frightened me when I first saw him. And now I find it hard to imagine him not around.” Jon’s heart thudded at her words and he wondered if maybe she was talking about more than just Ghost.

“Jon...what happened last night…” He inhaled sharply, involuntarily, praying she wasn’t about to write him off. “I never expected any of this when I sailed for Westeros. Never expected someone like you was here waiting for me, working to help me, would support me and my claim to the throne.” As they walked, her fingers brushed his and he was tempted to take her hand but was too apprehensive about who might be watching them. “I had something in my head. About what would happen once we got to Dragonstone. What I would need to do. Alliances I would need to make….” she trailed off again and Jon wondered where she was going with all this. Maybe she didn’t even know because in her pause, she shook her head as if ridding it of some idea that had tried to lodge there. 

“I’m getting ahead of myself. Even when I sit the throne today, we’ll still very much be at war. We need to head North and defeat the Boltons, get your little brother back, head to The Wall and make sure those dead men don’t pass through. So many things.” She took a deep breath and let it out in a shudder. “I think what I’m trying to say and trying very badly to say...is that...what happened last night…” Jon braced himself for the rejection he knew was coming. She was a queen. He was a bastard. He knew this would happen. Knew it was stupid to expect otherwise. “I don’t want that to be the end of...whatever this is. What I’m saying is, I don’t want things to change once I sit the throne. I don’t know what’s happening and there are so many unanswered questions here. Questions I never thought would come up and questions I have no idea how to go about investigating, though I’ve tried. I just…” 

She stopped walking and they faced each other, Jon’s heart now pounding so hard he thought she could see it through his leathers. “You’re not just a bastard to me, Jon Snow. You’re not just my military commander. You’re…stay with me tonight,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly bright. As she stepped into him and slid her hand in his, all Jon could do was nod. She kissed his corner of his mouth and stepped away quickly, that alluring blush back in her cheeks. He watched her go, her steps springy and youthful and completely disarming. What were they doing? But even as Jon wondered that and the potential consequences of their actions, he realized for once, he didn’t care.

 

They entered the city through the King’s Gate and made their way up River Row toward the Red Keep. Daenerys was mounted on a silver filly, making her Targaryen red cape stand out even more in the crowd as they traveled through the city. Jon was mounted to her right, Tyrion to her left, Jorah and Commander Waters ahead, Missandei, Varys, and Davos behind, and Ghost leading them all. Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal flew circles overhead as well and suddenly, looking down at the three headed dragon on his gorget, Jon was filled with an inexplicable sense of pride. The people of King’s Landing lined the street, many touting dragon banners and waving them excitedly, cheering Daenerys’s name. They may have had a long way to go yet, but this moment Jon knew he would remember for years to come. 

Once they reached Fishmonger’s Square, they turned left and headed up the Muddy Way getting ever closer to Aegon’s hill and the Red Keep. The castle loomed in the distance, almost foreboding, but when he looked at the smile on Daenerys’s face, Jon felt at peace. This was all how it was supposed to turn out. Daenerys slowed her filly’s pace to fall into pace with him and he leaned closer to her as she spoke.

“When we were in Pentos, my brother and I,” she began. “The man we stayed with, Illyrio Mopatis, he told Viserys the people of Westeros drank secret toast to his health and sewed dragon banners, praying for his return.” They both looked around then at all the red and black banners held up by the people of the city. “I used to think it was nonsense.”

Jon smiled. “You’re the queen they want. You’re the queen they need.” Her eyes grew soft and in that moment Jon wanted nothing more than to pull her onto his saddle and cradle her in his arms. They had done this together. They were here together. Nothing had ever felt more like victory. 

“Lord Commander,” Jorah called to Jon, stopping his own mount as he looked back. Jon urged his horse forward and noticed Ghost, stopped in the middle of the street, ears pulled back, head low in a crouch, almost like he was waiting for something. 

“Stop,” Jon called to the others. “What is it Ghost?” But the direwolf didn’t move. 

“Something wrong?” Daenerys asked, pulling up next to them. But before Jon could answer, her filly reared and it was all Jon could do to catch her and pull Dany to him before she fell back. 

Then time suddenly went double pace. Daenerys’s horse neighed and began to sprint back down the street toward the Mud Gate, Ghost turned as well and followed, Dany clambered onto Jon’s horse and held onto him for dear life as he shouted, “RETREAT!” and they all revolved around, spurring their mounts as fast as they would go toward the river and entrance to the city. Even at the speed they rode, Jon could feel the ground vibrating beneath him and it was all he could do to keep from looking back to see what terror was following them. The dragons up above gave screeches of fear and flew at breakneck speeds toward the Blackwater. 

“HURRY!” Dany yelled in his ear and Jon snapped the reigns of his mount and dug his heels into its sides urging it to go faster. They were almost to the gate. Just a little bit more. The people of the city were screaming and running alongside them, panicked shrieks and screams filling the air. They reached the Fishmonger’s Square and the Mud Gate but Jon kept riding, right through the wharfs until they were at the very edge of the river. Only then did he pull on the reigns of his mount and come to a stop, their companions and many city folk right behind him. He looked at Dany’s face first as she stared, horrified at the scene behind them, her violet eyes illuminated green. 

Jon looked behind them, following the sound of the screams and thunderous booms of destruction. Within the city walls it was nothing but great clouds of dust and green flame and smoke.

 


	17. The Ruined City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Targaryen deals with the aftermath of Cersei's wildfire attack. The Queen receives an unexpected visitor. Jon finally confides in Daenerys.

One week after the destruction of King’s Landing and Varys and Tyrion personally oversaw the finding of any remaining wildfire hidden within the city and it’s safe removal. Daenerys had wanted to put it all on a ship bound for the Shivering Sea and ignited once it was miles away from civilization but Jon had talked her out of it. The devastation the wildfire explosion caused in the capital was horrific. But he saw the potential of it to. After writing a lengthy letter to Tyene up at Eastwatch, explaining what Cersei had done and also telling her they had found her mother’s body in the black cells beneath the Red Keep - he left out that Ellaria’s head had been dashed against a wall, much like her dear Oberyn’s, the images in Jon’s mind still too fresh and not wanting to put that weight on Tyene’s shoulders - he had the remaining wildfire and alchemists in the city sent to The Wall. The alchemists would take the black for their part in the murder of hundreds of thousands of lives in the city, their guild completely disbanded, and the wildfire would be strategically placed in the Haunted Forest beyond The Wall to protect everyone against the army of the dead. 

Much of the city was in complete and utter ruin. The old Dragonpit now a giant crater in the ground. Cobbler’s Square and the Street of Seeds dust. Flea Bottom a smoking pile of rubble. The Guild of Alchemists reduced to ashes, justly, Jon thought. The City Watch Barracks, most of Visenya’s Hill. The only structure in the city that remained standing, though badly damaged, had been the Red Keep. It had puzzled Jon and Tyrion at first, until a near tearful Daenerys explained. “She thinks she’s going to be able come back,” Dany got out. “Because she’s fine with being queen of the ashes. As long as she’s queen of something.” 

All of her advisors, Jon included, had urged the queen to go back to Dragonstone while they sorted out the mess that was King’s Landing, but Dany refused. Her place was with her people, she had said and once Tyrion and Varys and the alchemists guild confirmed there was no more wildfire left in the city, Dany had gone to work. She discarded her crisp, regal battle dresses in favor of well worn brown leather trousers and and boots and busied herself with organizing meal distribution for the refugees escaping the city ruins. Jon tasked their remaining troops with hunting for survivors amongst the rubble and Ghost proved himself invaluable in this task, sniffing for those trapped underground. Soon the remaining citizens of King’s Landing were sewing direwolf banners as well, the number of people Ghost had saved now up in the hundreds. Mothers of children he had dug out of collapsed buildings began referring to the wolf as the  _ silent savior _ .

Even with all the death and horror though, Cersei’s evil plot had actually brought much of the country together. Many of the lords in the Westerlands and Stormlands had traveled to the city upon learning of the explosion to swear fealty to Daenerys, now able to fully understand and see Cersei Lannister for what she was.  _ A Mad Queen _ . 

Jon was proud of Dany for how well she had held up in the time following the destruction of the city. He suspected it was due to her never ending work with the small folk. She refused to stop moving until very late at night when she was forced to take a few hours for sleep. But when Lady Olenna arrived two weeks after the incident, Daenerys finally broke down and Jon as well, just a little. 

“My dear,” Olenna got out in the privacy of Dany’s tent and she embraced the queen in a way that, in any other circumstance, would have been completely unacceptable. But Jon watched, throat tight, as Dany buried her face in Olenna’s veil, her body shaking with tears. “We’ll get her,” Olenna told Dany fiercely, rubbing a hand up and down Dany’s back. “She’s got nowhere left to run anymore.” Dany quieted her sobs and broke away from Olenna, nodding solemnly and sliding her real mask on once more. Olenna looked to Jon. “Come here Snow.” Without waiting for his permission, Olenna embraced Jon as well and it was all he could do not to break down as Dany had. In that moment, Jon realized Olenna was the closest thing to a mother or grandmother he had ever had and he suspected by Dany’s reaction, Olenna was the same to her as well. 

Once much of the city had been cleared, the majority of the citizens setting up little shanty villages in the Kingswood, Daenerys was finally ready to make her way up to the Red Keep. Though Cersei hadn’t set alight the wildfire that was kept beneath the castle, much of it was in ruin. Chunks of flaming stone and pieces of buildings had flown through the ceiling and damaged a fair amount of the grounds. As they walked up Aegon’s Hill, Jon felt cold flakes touch his face.  _ Snow _ . Daenerys looked back at him, tears in her eyes. She stopped and waited for him to reach her side so she could take his hand before continuing up to the castle. Jon didn’t even care then who saw or what they thought. 

Finally, they reached their destination - the Great Hall. Qhono and two other Dothraki warriors stood before the doors to the hall and waited for Daenerys to give signal. When they pushed the doors open, the queen inhaled sharply and squeezed Jon’s hand tighter. The ground was covered in a thick layer of white - a mix of snow and ash. The ceiling was in pieces, parts of it having been burned away by stray embers from the wildfire. And there, at the end of the hall, sat the Iron Throne, like the floor, covered in white. 

Dany took in a deep, shuddering breath as they approached it. “I’ve seen this before,” she whispered. Jon looked at her, puzzled. “One of my visions in the House of the Undying. It was this very scene. I should have known,” she got out, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I should have known.” Jon took her in his arms then and held her close, wishing there was something he could do, anything to take her pain away. She only wanted to do good. Protect the people of the city and all of Westeros and Cersei was doing all she could to prevent that happening. None of it felt fair. 

“Khaleesi,” Qhono called to Daenerys and she broke apart from Jon to hear what the Dothraki warrior had to tell her. At his words, Dany’s nostrils flared and her eyes flamed, her teeth grinding together in rage. 

“What?” Jon asked wondering what fresh hell they had to deal with next. “What is it?” But instead of answer him, Dany closed her eyes as if praying for patience. Jon gave Tyrion a puzzled look and he shrugged, just as confused. When she opened her eyes again, Dany said something to Qhono in Dothraki and he left the Great Hall with a nod. 

Still puzzled by the exchange, Tyrion approached Daenerys. “Something wrong, Your Grace?” She swallowed and attempted to compose herself, dabbing at the tears on her cheeks and smoothing her clothes and hair. Taking a deep breath, she turned and faced the entrance to the Great Hall. After several minutes, Jon heard footsteps and a figure he hadn’t seen since he was last at Winterfell came into view.

“ _ Jaime! _ ” Tyrion hissed at his brother who, Jon noted, looked as if he had aged ten years, not five. His beard and hair were flecked with dark grey, his once long golden locks now short and close cropped. The cocky, mischievous glint that had once sparked in his eyes was now replaced by a dead sorrow, the purple bags under them and the bloodshot through them hints at his grief. Lines marred the once smooth, youthful face. And there was something about him that just seemed  _ less _ than what Jon remembered of the man who had once shook his hand and  _ thanked _ him for guarding the realm from the perils beyond The Wall.  _ Wildlings and White Walkers _ Lannister had said sarcastically. If only he knew.

But though his brother was standing right next to him, the only person Jaime Lannister was focused on was the queen. His lips trembled as he opened his mouth to speak, eyes welling with tears. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “ _ I’m so sorry _ .” 

 

“I don’t understand,” Jon said to Jaime in a panic. “If you’re here, where is the rest of this army of hers then? You traveled with Euron to Braaovs to repay the Iron Bank and now you’re back. Where’s the rest of you?” 

They were back in the camp grounds again, in Tyrion’s tent this time, Jaime telling them everything that had happened since Daenerys arrived at Dragonstone months ago. Jaime took a deep breath before answering, everyone eyeing him warily. “Once they gather the Golden Company from Myr, they won’t be headed for King’s Landing,” he began.

“Highgarden?” Olenna demanded. Jon’s eyes shot from her’s to Lannister’s. Highgarden they still had more men than the remaining Lannister forces and these twenty thousand sellswords from Essos called the  _ Golden Company _ but still. Jon didn’t want them to lose so much of their army before they marched North for Winterfell and still further North to protect The Wall. Jaime shook his head solemnly. 

“She’s made a pact with...Ramsay Bolton.”  _ Son of a bitch! _ Jon slammed his hand against the table in frustration but only Ghost jumped. Everyone else in the room had nerves too fried to have any sort of reaction other than blinking. If only they had taken care of Bolton from the beginning. If they had secured the North sooner. But wait. That still didn’t make any sense. Why would Cersei be sending her armies North…

“The free folk,” Jon breathed and Daenerys whipped around to stare at him in horror. Jaime nodded grimly.

“Not just the wildlings though. You left the Night’s Watch in a bit of a disgrace when you let those people south of The Wall and then abandoned them, Snow,” Jaime explained. “Ramsay means to march on the entire Wall. The wildlings, the men at Eastwatch, Castle Black, the Shadow Tower. And honestly, they might not have made the alliance with Cersei and decided to march at all if you hadn’t sent those eunuch slave soldiers up to Eastwatch with Edmure Tully.”

“He did that to protect the people of the North!” Daenerys exclaimed. Jaime gave her a puzzled look. 

“Protect them from…?”

“The army of the dead,” Jon finished in answer. Jaime’s bewilderment only grew at his statement. “The free folk are manning the abandoned castles of The Wall and the Unsullied and Riverlands forces are there as well to hold it against the Night King. They’re real. Wights. White Walkers. Everything we were told as children, it’s all real. I’ve seen them,” Jon emphasized.

“Where is your sister headed with the Lannister forces and this sellsword army once she acquires them?” Varys asked darkly and suddenly Jon’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. He had a feeling he already knew the answer.

“They mean to set anchor North of The Wall,” Jaime explained and Jon’s heart fell. “Cersei plans to attack from the North. Bolton from the South. They don’t want to just drive the wildlings back beyond The Wall--”

“She wants to exterminate them,” Tyrion cut him off. Jaime nodded. 

“She’s going to get them all killed, isn’t she?” Daenerys whispered. “Didn’t your brother say the army of the dead was marching for The Wall?” Jon nodded. If the dead got to the Lannisters and this Golden Company before they did, then the Night King would have nearly thirty thousand more bodies to add to his army. They were truly fucked. 

 

It was certainly a risk trusting Jaime Lannister. But even if he hadn’t been the one to come up with it, it really was the only plan they had. Daenerys had fewer than twenty ships left to their disposal. And they were going to require them all. The forces from the Vale, the Stormlands and those Dothraki and Tyrell who were at the capital would sail for Eastwatch in two days time. The remaining Dothraki forces in the Reach - save a reserve of only one thousand - and the forces from the Westerlands of lords who had sworn fealty to Daenerys would ride hard on the King’s Road North. 

Praying Cersei was still in Myr collecting the Golden Company, the Targaryen army would reach The Wall before she did. The Boltons needed to be defeated. That much was not up for debate. The Dothraki and Westerland soldiers would come up and hit them hard from behind. The Golden Company and Lannister forces headed for beyond The Wall though, needed to be dealt with carefully. If they made anchor and settled in the Haunted Forest before the Boltons were dealt with, they were all at risk. 

It left much of the country vulnerable, it was true. But as nearly all Seven Kingdoms had declared for Daenerys, Cersei didn’t have much left to fight for aside from the North. However, as the North was larger than the rest of the Kingdoms combined, it was an important piece to hold. They needed to secure it from her and the army of the dead. Jon only prayed they weren’t too late. 

The night before they set sail for Eastwatch, they had gathered in Jon’s tent to go over the plan one last time. 

“We’ll keep regular shipments of grain and fruit coming into the city,” Lady Olenna assured Daenerys of the state of King’s Landing. The queen smiled gratefully. 

“And the City Watch will continue to oversee cleanup and rescue,” Commander Waters explained, “ensuring all refugees have food and shelter and a means to locate their families who may have been separated in the aftermath of the explosion.” Jon nodded. 

“What of Dragonstone?” Olenna asked Jon and Daenerys. But it was Tyrion who answered.

“A small crew on Dragonstone will continue to mine the dragonglass and ferry it to the capital. From here, we can ship it on land to all other parts of the country, making sure each and every household in Westeros has weapons.” 

“Good,” was all Olenna offered in response. “And when you’ve defeated the Boltons and Cersei, where will you head then?”

Jon looked between Tyrion and the queen, unsure of how to answer. They hadn’t talked about this.

“A topic for another time,” Varys said smoothly. “Don’t even have a capital to come back to as of yet.”

“We’ll plan for all of that once Cersei and the Boltons are taken care of,” Daenerys agreed. “Then there’s the army of the dead. Too many factors to say for a certainty now.” 

They made the final few preparations, dictating who would be on which ships, where to send correspondences, what would happen when they reached The Wall. Once, Ser Jorah had tried to persuade Daenerys to fly on dragonback to Eastwatch and wait for them there but she quickly shot that suggestion down. She said as their queen, her place was with her people and as most of them would be sailing, she would as well. 

After specifics were nailed down, everyone trickled out of Jon’s tent. Daenerys lingered, hand trailing the map of Westeros on his table, but Jon needed to speak to someone else first. Telling her he’d be just a minute, Jon took Gendry just outside the tent and gave him a whispered request. After listening to Jon’s words, Gendry gave him an all too pleased smile and nodded, clapping Jon on the arm and telling him not to worry.

“What was all that about?” Dany asked as Jon came back inside the tent, pouring both him and herself a cup of wine.

Jon tried hard to keep his smile to himself. “Nothing, Your Grace, just giving the lad his commands for the trip.” She raised a suspicious eyebrow at him but said nothing.  _ Wine _ . It must have meant she didn’t have the intention of leaving soon. It made Jon feel infinitely better.

“You know, I never did sit on the Iron Throne while we’ve been here,” Dany reflected, sitting cross legged on the ground next to Ghost and the brazier. Jon tentatively settled behind her, taking her in his arms and breathing a small sigh of relief when she snuggled against him further. 

“Want to go for a walk up there now and do it, just to say you did?” Jon asked, humor in his voice. That throne had looked  _ incredibly _ uncomfortable. But to his surprise, when Dany answered, her voice was quite serious.

“No. No,” she repeated shaking her head. “When we come back... _ if _ we come back--”

“We’ll make it back,” Jon assured her, though he wasn’t entirely sure himself. This would be a dangerous mission they were heading into. Any one of them could perish up in the frozen North. 

“ _ If _ we make it back,” Daenerys emphasized, not to be swayed by him. “I want that horrible chair melted down.” Jon stared down at her incredulously.  _ Melted down _ . It was her family’s ancestral throne. Balerion the Black Dread was said to have heated the swords of Aegon the Conqueror’s surrendered enemies in order to forge the damned thing. But she wanted to  _ melt it down? _ Jon almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

At his silence, Daenerys must have guessed how confused he was. “Aegon the Conqueror built a wheel. This system that raises up these power hungry high lords and crushes those on the ground. Like Cersei with her wildfire. I don’t want to perpetuate that system, I want to end it. And I will start with the Iron Throne. Balerion the Black dread heated the swords to make the throne. Drogon can melt it.”

“Very poetic,” was all Jon could say in comment. But he held her tighter as it made him admire her more. “Should we make a ceremony of it?” he asked, half kidding.

“That’s not a bad idea,” she turned smiling at him. He raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m serious. Invite anyone. Everyone. So they can all see for themselves things will not continue as they have under people like Cersei, Robert Baratheon, my father. So they will all know things will be different under my rule.” She looked so beautiful and passionate talking about it, Jon couldn’t help leaning down and taking her lips with his. They hadn’t been alone since Cersei set the city ablaze with wildfire. 

She hummed her approval and opened her mouth against his to deepen the kiss, sliding back and onto the canvas floor, pulling him on top of her. “Do you think Ser Davos has any last minute business with you this evening?” she asked smiling, breaking away from him. 

Jon chuckled. “I really hope not.” But as Daenerys tugged the hem of his tunic out of his trousers, Jon was reminded of something else that might serve as a rude interruption that had nothing to do with someone walking in on them. Reluctantly, he grabbed her hands to stop her and sat back up. She sat up to, confusion writ on her face. 

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?” He knew he wanted to tell her. He knew he would tell her. It was just  _ so _ difficult. She brought her hand up and caressed his face, fingers running back over his ear, knowing something was amiss.       

“Remember when you asked me...that first night we met you invited me to dine with you, you asked me how I came to be relieved of my Night’s Watch vows?” Daenerys nodded in recognition. “I told you I was lawfully released from my vows when Stannis came to Castle Black. You thought I meant Stannis was the one who released me from my vows, didn’t you?” 

“Was he not?” she questioned. Jon slowly shook his head. “Then how…?”

“When Stannis was at Castle Black, after I was made Lord Commander...he allowed me to use his ships to collect the remaining free folk from Hardhome. I told you what happened at Hardhome.” Daenerys swallowed hard but nodded. “When I allowed them to pass through the gates at Castle Black so they could get south of The Wall, many of my men...my brothers…” Jon faltered, Olly’s face swimming before him, the look of sorrow and hatred and conflict in the lad’s eyes right before he plunged his knife into Jon’s heart… “They didn’t agree with what I had done. They thought me a traitor.”

“Did they...banish you?” Daenerys asked in a shaky voice. 

Jon shook his head again and her eyes grew wide. She knew the only way to be released from the Night’s Watch vows was death. “I was in my study when...my steward, Olly…” His throat grew tight thinking about it. It had been the worst night of Jon’s life. And for a while, his last. “He told me one of the wildlings I had let pass The Wall had word of my uncle Benjen. Benjen was a ranger in the Watch who’d gone missing years before. I followed Olly out to the courtyard where a group of my brothers was gathered. But...when I pushed passed them...there was just a sign stuck in the ground. The word  _ traitor _ written on it.” 

There were tears in Dany’s eyes now as her breathing became shallow. “They said it was for the Watch,” Jon got out. Taking a deep breath, he quickly lifted his tunic over his head, exposing his marred and mangled chest and abdomen and Daenerys gasped, her eyes glued to the crescent shaped scar right above his heart. “I felt the first knife go in. And the second. I didn’t feel the next three. But this one,” he touched his fingers to the scar her gaze was fixated on and she touched it too as if to check it was real. “Olly did that one.” A few tears slipped from Jon’s eyes as he remembered being on his knees before the young steward, the utter helplessness he felt, knowing Olly hadn’t wanted to do what he did and feeling like he had betrayed the boy because of what the wildlings had done to his family. 

“ _ How? _ ” Daenerys choked, tears slipping down her cheeks as well. 

“Melisandre,” Jon answered. “I don’t know exactly how she did it. Said some words. Tossed bits of my hair into the flames. I didn’t see anything. Didn’t go anywhere, that I remember. It was just...nothing. And then I was back. Davos was the one who convinced her to try. I think it’s why she thinks...why she believes…”

“That you have something to do with the prophecy?” she finished for him. Jon nodded. They sat there together for how long, Jon couldn’t say. Daenerys put her hand flat on his chest, feeling his heart thump underneath her fingers, as if checking it still worked. Her eyes never left his chest. Jon wasn’t sure where they were to go from here. He imagined it was quite a lot for her to take in... _ the man who returned from the dead _ , as Tormund had said. Her fingers traced the first scar then trailed lower to trace the rest, her eyes wide but the tears slowing. 

She rubbed his ribs with her thumb, her other hand behind his neck and she gave him a little push. Not knowing what she wanted exactly but taking a guess, Jon lay back on the floor and Daenerys followed him, her lips meeting the first scar. It was such a foreign sensation, soft wet lips on the mangled flesh he inhaled sharply, sucking the air in through his teeth. She looked up at him startled, afraid she had hurt him but she hadn’t. It was just surprising. He gave her half a smile and she closed her eyes and touched her lips to him again.  

As she sought out the next scar, Jon thought back and realized he had never been touched like this before. Had never been so lovingly caressed, with such care and reverence. Each scar she kissed thoroughly, tracing the jagged flesh with her soft warm lips. Jon’s throat tightened again as he ran his fingers through her silky silver mane, the soft strands tickling his stomach. She was perfect. She was everything. As her kisses dipped lower, Jon closed his eyes knowing he never wanted to be anywhere else. Perhaps  _ she _ was the reason he was brought back. It certainly felt like it in this moment. 

Jon’s breaths became even and deep and he almost could have gone to sleep at her touch. But when he felt her lips and hair leave him and felt her tugging at the laces of his trousers, he was suddenly wide awake, his cock beginning to stiffen. But before he could move, her lips were on him again, kissing his erection just as she had kissed his scars. “ _ Dany _ .” He tried to pull away from her but she held his hips in place. “ _ Dany don’t _ ,” he begged. No one had ever done  _ this _ to him before and for some reason it made him feel embarrassed and selfish and, if he were being honest with himself, undeserving. She lifted her head then, eyes searching and wistful. “ _ Please let me _ ,” she urged him, her expression sincere, her thumbs rubbing slow sweet circles on his hips. Jon’s heart thrashed wildly in his chest.  _ Let her? _ Let her do  _ that _ to him? Her lips...her warm, wet tongue...inside her mouth...Jon’s cock twitched at the thought and she gave him a sly, coy smile. “ _ Lie back _ ,” she whispered and Jon was left with no other choice but to obey, eyes wide and apprehensive, fingers gripping his stomach and the floor as she sat back and unbuckled her winter coat. Underneath, all she wore was a simple black shift, her breasts beautifully on display, nearly spilling out the top of it. As she lowered herself down to him again, Jon’s breathing became erratic and he shut his eyes tight, unable to watch as her mouth found him again, this time running her tongue up the length of him, dragging out a low, untamed groan from his lips. She gave him a few more unhurried, firm licks before taking him in her hand and slowly pushing his tip between tight moist lips. Jon’s hips jerked and his head slammed back against the floor, unable to contain himself at the completely overwhelming sensation. He knew he should try to keep quiet, he knew the only thing separating them from the rest of the camp was a thin wall of canvas but as she began sucking gently on his sensitive flesh, he couldn’t help the pitiful little grunts that escaped him. He was completely caught up in her. She could have demanded anything of him in that moment and he knew whatever it was, he would have agreed without question. And then he dared open his eyes. Hers were closed but not clenched shut, eyebrows tipped upward, her expression completely serene as if nothing made her happier than pleasuring him with her sweet little mouth. Jon watched as she worked him with her hand slowly in time with the movements of her mouth, his cock disappearing between her lips over and over and over again. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. “ _ Dany _ ,” he growled dragging her away, pulling her up his body and crushing his lips to hers. She gave a tiny whimper at his aggressiveness, but then she was just as passionate, quickly straddling him, eagerly rubbing herself on him, the cloth of her trousers the only thing separating them. Jon pushed himself up into a sitting position and tugged the straps of her shift down her shoulders, freeing her breasts and trapping her arms at the elbows in the process. He needed her. He wanted all of her. Dipping his head, Jon took one of her rosy nipples in his mouth, sucking with abandon, his lips and tongue and teeth working her over as she held the back of his head, pushing him into her and rubbing her cheek against his hair, groaning.

But the friction she was creating between them was too much, making him desperate and his insides burn with the need to be inside her. Quickly, he tugged her dress down to her waist so she was able to slip her arms out of it and then he flipped them over so she was on her back. They both worked to pull her shift and trousers down her hips, their foreheads touching and frantic breaths mingling. “ _ Hurry _ ,” she groaned and he used his feet to kick her clothes off the rest of the way, doing the same with his loosened trousers. 

As he nestled himself between her spread, damp thighs, she pulled her knees up, bracing herself. Locking his lips to hers, tongue invading her mouth hungrily, Jon slid a hand down between their bodies to guide himself into her waiting wetness. But as much as he wanted to thrust hard into her, Jon couldn’t help teasing her, rubbing his cock along her wet swollen folds, between her lower lips, making her squirm. At his now leisurely pace, Daenerys broke their kiss and huffed, trying to pull him into her, wrapping her legs around his hips and pushing down. Jon smiled and a reluctant grin spread across her face as well. “ _ Please _ ,” she pleaded sincerely. “ _ Make love to me, Jon _ .” 

He couldn’t deny her any longer and he couldn’t deny himself. His raw hunger for her, clawing at him from the inside. With a low growl and cock throbbing painfully, he thrust into her, shallow at first, working her open, feeling her inner walls stretch to accommodate him, reveling in her breathy pants each time his hips collided with hers. As he took her mouth again and rocked in and out of her, finding a rhythm with her own movements, Jon thought this  _ was _ the reason he was brought back. Westeros and all those in it be damned. There was only him. Only her. They were the only two beings in the world that mattered. 

Daenerys shifted her hips to get more of him inside her, her heels digging into the backs of his thighs and backside, pulling him in further as if she could never get enough of him and he felt the same. There would never be enough of her. He would never get his fill. But in that moment, Jon had to pause. He pulled away from her lips and her eyes flickered open in question. He rubbed her cheek with his thumb as the wonder of her washed over him. This was where he was meant to be. 

However Dany only allowed him a brief moment of reflection before pulling his mouth back down to hers, lips trailing from his own to his jaw, to his ear, giving the lobe a gentle nip, to his neck, kissing and licking and sucking the skin there and Jon redoubled his efforts, snapping his hips against hers, slipping his hand between them to stroke the little pearl at the top of her sex, knowing he didn’t have long before he succumbed to the exquisiteness of their movements. He kissed his way back to her mouth but as their foreheads pressed together her mouth slackened, her legs beginning to stiffen. Then her back arched, a cry of ecstasy escaped her and he felt her constrict around him, her walls pulsing in a way that made his eyes roll back and with a few faltering thrusts, panting harshly, he spilled deep inside her.

He kept his eyes shut tight, forehead still glued to hers as the spasms slowed and then finally stopped. His breathing was almost embarrassingly unsteady but then hers was too. A trembling hand came up and tangled its fingers into his hair, stroking and lightly scratching in a familiar, comforting way and he scooted down, resting his full weight on her, cheek against her breast. Jon didn’t know how long they stayed like that. He could barely make coherent thoughts, he was in such shock at what had just happened. The queen.  _ I’ve just made love with the queen _ . As the first thought entered his mind, Jon felt his heartbeat start to pick up again. He was her commander. She was his queen. What had they done?

Wondering if he should start to regret what had just taken place or if she would, he started to stir, attempting to pull away from her. But Dany just held him to her tighter “ _ Don’t go _ ,” she whispered. “ _ Don’t go just yet _ .” Despite her protests though, he couldn’t help but lean up to look at her, a question in his eyes. 

“ _ Will you stay with me tonight? _ ” Jon asked, his stomach fluttering, recalling a moment with someone else not too long ago when the answer to that question would have been  _ no _ . But Daenerys wasn’t Tyene. 

“ _ I don’t want to be anywhere else _ ,” she answered, reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind his ear. Jon smiled and bent down to give her a peck on the lips before lifting her and carrying her to his little cot, both of them barely fitting but neither caring as Dany snuggled against him. Jon leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead, cradling her in his arms, knowing he definitely shouldn’t have been feeling the things he was feeling, but if she felt them too, how could it be so wrong?

 

The next morning they boarded one of the ships bound for Eastwatch. And the great war. 


	18. The Ship - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first leg of the journey north. Two-parts. Now wondering if I should call this - Go North...get...something. Hmm...

While taking Ghost for a jog around the deck of the Targaryen flagship, Jon caught sight of Jaime Lannister and his man Bronn, a sellsword who had hopped aboard moments before departure. Jon and Daenerys had protested profusely, not knowing who this man was or what he wanted with them. But when Tyrion and Jaime vouched for him, saying he’d served both of them faithfully and loyally, they had had the steward find a spare bunk for him. 

Now Bronn and Jaime were on deck facing off against each other, clutching sparring swords. For a moment Jon couldn’t fathom why they were play fighting when he remembered Jaime had lost a hand some years ago. His  _ sword _ hand. He watched Lannister’s steps carefully, noting he was slightly awkward having now to lead with the opposite foot as well. Lannister plunged his sword forward, attempting to strike Ser Bronn. Bronn blocked easily and shoved his opponent with his shoulder, knocking Lannister off balance. Lannister recovered quickly and raised his sword in time to block a blow from Bronn, pushed off and lunged again, Bronn blocking this time. They stood in a battle of wills, swords met, pushing against each other. It appeared Bronn had the advantage, as he was much stronger and more coordinated. But just when Jon thought Lannister would go down, he brought up his gold-plated hand and struck the sellsword smack across the jaw, knocking him to the ground with a huff of triumphant laughter. 

“What the hell was that?” Bronn demanded, attempting to find his footing while Jon pursed his lips hard to keep from laughing.

“That was me, knocking your ass to the ground with my gold hand,” Lannister answered and to Jon’s surprise, the sellsword broke into a wide grin, an inside joke obvious between the two. But when they noticed Jon standing nearby with Ghost, both their smiles died and Lannister straightened up, Bronn also finally getting to his feet. “Commander Snow,” Lannister bowed stiffly.

“Ser Jaime,” Jon greeted back. “You’re not bad with your left,” he pointed out. “And seems like you know how to use that gold hand of yours to your advantage.”

“It proves useful from time to time,” Ser Jaime noted. 

“So you’re the infamous  _ Bastard of Winterfell _ Tyrion keeps goin’ on about, eh?” Ser Bronn asked. Jaime shot him a concerned look but Jon just nodded. He had already pegged Bronn as a blunt, no-nonsense fast talker, much like Tyrion, just more humorous and less diplomatic. He sort of liked that about Bronn.

“Tell me Snow,” Ser Jaime asked, setting his sparring sword back in it’s sheath and uncorking a skin of what appeared to be wine. “How is it you came to be Lord Commander of Daenerys’s military forces and not beheaded for deserting the Night’s Watch?”

Fighting hard not to roll his eyes, Jon took a deep breath.  _ Why did everyone ask this fucking question? _ “I didn’t desert. I was lawfully released from my vows.”

Ser Bronn raised a skeptical eyebrow but then shrugged. “Meh, suppose if you had deserted the queen could pardon you anyway if she wanted so doesn’t really matter, does it?” Bronn accepted the wineskin from Jaime, took a swig, then passed it to Jon as if this sort of thing were normal. Jon hesitated a moment then gulped down what he recognized as a fine Arbor gold, which he’d first tried back in Oldtown. It was all Jon could do to keep from shaking his head. Only a Lannister would keep Arbor gold in his wineskin. Taking the skin back from him, Bronn asked, “Heard you were campaigning for the dragon queen before she came back to Westeros. That true?” Jon nodded and Bronn asked him why. 

He shrugged. “Heard about her from people I trusted. Knew we needed to unite the realm before winter settled in so we could face the threat in the North together. She seemed like the right person to do it. And I wasn’t wrong.”

“How’d you manage it?” Ser Jaime asked, looking impressed despite himself. “You’re a bastard from the North with a father who’d been pegged as a traitor. Yet you rallied four of the Seven Kingdoms to Daenerys’s side before she even landed on Dragonstone.”

“Well,” Jon began, thinking back to his long and incredibly odd journey. “Started with my sister Sansa. She wanted to take back Winterfell from the Boltons. We didn’t have the men but when I met Yara Greyjoy, she said planned to support Daenerys. Said the queen might help with Winterfell if we supported her. When your sister blew up the Great Sept and murdered the Tyrells, I went to Highgarden to meet with Olenna. While I was there, Olenna got an invitation to meet with Ellaria Sand in Dorne and she had me accompany her…and we just went from there.”

“How’d you like Dorne?” Ser Bronn asked with what Jon annoyingly thought looked like a knowing smirk. 

“Bit hot for my taste,” Jon got out and Bronn’s smile widened. 

“And how was the, uh,  _ Dornish hospitality _ , eh? The Sands tend to your every need?” Jon’s eyes widened and suddenly his clothing felt too tight.  _ Damn him _ , Jon thought.

“They were very kind,” he said evenly but Bronn only laughed.

“Those Dornish girls, I tell you.” Ser Jaime smiled and shook his head. “We went down to Dorne not long ago,” Bronn indicated himself and Jaime. “I’s poisoned by this little lass with the most perfect tits you could ever have imagined.” Jon swallowed hard. Bronn tossed him the wineskin again and Jon drank, glad to have an excuse not to look at either of them. “Tyene Sand her name was,” Bronn commented and Jon choked, his face instantly aflame. At his reaction, Bronn laughed and Ser Jaime joined him. “You fucked  _ Tyene Sand? _ ” Bronn correctly guessed but before Jon could attempt to lie and deny it, someone cleared their throat right behind him and Jon could have killed the sellsword in that moment as he turned around and met an all too familiar and now furious face. 

But Daenerys turned away from Jon as soon as he set eyes on her and focused on Lannister. “Ser Jaime, you were going to have lunch with me in my private chambers, remember?”  _ What? _ Jon blinked a few times, not sure he had heard her right but Daenerys merely snuck a brief look back at him with an eyebrow raised. 

“Ah yes, Your Grace. My apologies for my tardiness.” Daenerys turned on her heel, gave Ghost a quick pat, refused to meet Jon’s confused gaze and Ser Jaime followed her, slapping Jon on the shoulder as he passed to go below deck with the queen. 

Bronn continued to chuckle. “Don’t worry,” Bronn began when Daenerys and Jaime were safely out of earshot. “I don’t think he’d fuck her. Too young and the wrong kind of blonde.”

“ _ What? _ ” Jon asked Bronn, incredulous. While Jon had initially thought the sellsword was quite funny, he certainly didn’t find him funny now. 

“You and the dragon queen, yeh?” Bronn asked and Jon gritted his teeth. Bronn raised a wary eyebrow, looking to Jon’s side and he suddenly realized Ghost was next to him, his mouth open in a silent snarl. The direwolf always did seem able to sense Jon’s moods, when he was in distress...or apparently when someone had just royal fucked him over. 

“ _ Queen Daenerys _ ,” Jon corrected him. He started to walk away from Bronn then, intent on finishing his task of jogging Ghost around the ship so the wolf wouldn’t get fat like he had on the way from Eastwatch to Oldtown. But the sellsword followed. 

“Alright, I won’t press yeh. If she hasn’t fucked you yet, she probably will before we reach The Wall, way she looks at yeh.” Jon closed his eyes in an effort not to turn and hit Bronn. “But you did fuck Tyene Sand, no question. Saw it on your face soon as I mentioned her. Now that girl. She’s something. Never bedded her meself. But I certainly wanted to--”

“You shouldn’t talk about her like that,” Jon warned him darkly but even as he said it, he knew if Tyene heard Bronn, she wouldn’t care. She said it herself,  _ I’m not a lady Jon Snow _ . He was actually surprised Bronn had somehow got a glimpse of her breasts and yet she hadn’t slept with him. Then again, Jon really didn’t care to know the circumstances. And he certainly didn’t want to continue talking about her with Daenerys on the same ship. 

“You know what happened to her? I know that Greyjoy captured her mother and when we sacked Dorne to pay back the Iron Bank, she wasn’t there.” Jon was surprised Bronn almost sounded disappointed.

“You may actually get to see her again soon. She’s up at Eastwatch with her sisters and five hundred Dornishmen. They’re helping man The Wall.” Bronn’s face split into another annoyingly knowing grin.

“The queen know about this?” But thankfully, before Jon could respond with another bad lie, Ghost nudged his hand and again reminded him of why he had even come up on deck in the first place. 

“If you’ll excuse me Ser Bronn.” He gave the knight a little bow which was only met with a smirk before turning away. He gave Ghost a sharp pat on his haunches and the direwolf took off running with Jon beside him. Daenerys certainly knew  _ now _ about Tyene, thanks to Ser Bronn’s constantly running mouth. He wondered what her reaction would be, thinking back to when she asked about his kiss with Yara. He and Yara hadn’t shared a bed together. Tyene, however, was a completely different story. And they would come face to face once they made port at Eastwatch.  _ Fuck _ .

 

That evening at dinner, Dany refused to look Jon’s way at all. She had even seated herself on the opposite end of the room so they weren’t at the same table. Davos and Gendry joined him but Jon couldn’t risk asking them for advice on what to do about the Tyene situation Ser Bronn had created because he didn’t want his voice to carry through the mess hall.

Daenery was a magnet, it seemed, nearly everyone else aside from Davos and Gendry and a few soldiers seated at her table. Missandei, Tyrion and Jaime. Sam, Gilly and little Sam. Jorah, and of course, Bronn. To Jon’s great annoyance, Ser Jaime appeared to be regaling the queen with an amusing story that had her laughing so hard so had to dab tears from her eyes. Gilly, who Daenerys had honored by sitting next to, was laughing also. 

_ How was Daenerys even tolerating Ser Jaime’s company? _ Jon wondered. He was the man who murdered her father after all. Jaime might not have started the Rebellion but his actions during the sack of King’s Landing certainly hadn’t helped Dany’s family’s situation. Had Aerys not been killed, Rhaegar’s children and Elia Martell might not have been put to the sword meaning Daenerys would still have family alive today. And yet, there she was, barely paying attention to the food she was putting in her mouth as Jaime waved his good hand about, telling her some obviously very entertaining story.

As the evening wore on, Jon noticed somehow little Sam had wiggled himself between Gilly and Daenerys which mercifully shifted her attention away from Ser Jaime. They were playing some game with their hands Jon had seen Sansa and Jeyne Poole play from time to time back in Winterfell. Daenerys may have looked happy and amused listening to Jaime Lannister talk, but in that moment with little Sam, her whole demeanor changed. Her eyes were brighter. Her cheeks pleasantly flushed. There was a calm about her, as if interacting with the toddler gave her a sense of peace. It was an air he hoped he could see about her more often. 

 

When Daenerys left the mess for the evening, Jon knew they should talk. And since she clearly wasn’t seeking him out, he knew he needed to be the one to initiate things. Below deck, he quickly ducked into the cabin that he never slept in to check on Ghost. The direwolf had rooted his way under the furs of the bed and the only part of him Jon could make out, aside from the large lump under the covers, was his snout sticking out up near the pillows. He shook his head and gave him a few pats, Ghost barely moving he was so deep asleep….or just too content to be bothered, Jon wasn’t sure. Then with feet like lead and his heart hammering, he slowly made his way to Daenerys’s room.

“Am I welcome in here?” he asked her once she opened the door, genuinely not knowing. 

She rolled her eyes but pushed the door open wider as she spoke. “That depends. Tell me about Tyene Sand.” He huffed in frustration, shutting the door behind him. Things had ended with Tyene months ago. And he had been sharing Daenerys’s bed the last few weeks. Surely she knew she was the only woman he wanted. 

“Why don’t you tell me about your private lunch with Jaime Lannister and whatever it was he was saying at dinner that you found so amusing and I’ll tell you about Tyene?” he shot back, irritated. Lannister may have been a sister-fucking, one armed disgraced knight, but he was still incredibly handsome, even with the last few years of war aging him so.  _ And he’s a trueborn son _ , Jon thought angrily. If Daenerys needed to make a more concrete gesture of allegiance with the Westerlands and the Lannisters, a marriage to Jaime definitely had its benefits. 

“I asked you first,” Daenerys argued, pouring herself a large glass of wine but not pouring one for Jon. He ground his teeth together. She could be so infuriating when she was jealous. But unfortunately for Jon, this was not like when he told her about Yara because he really  _ had _ lain with Tyene and had quite enjoyed himself doing it. “I’m waiting,” she pressed. 

Jon took a seat at her writing desk and pursed his lips, staring up at her defiantly. Surely she had had other lovers before. Seven hells, she had been  _ married _ before. She had no right to be angry with him for this. “Was Khal Drogo the only man you’ve ever lain with, aside from me?” he asked, wanting to ruffle her feathers a bit before confessing. She gaped at him, no doubt surprised at his boldness.

“No,” she clipped. And while her answer made him feel smug for proving a point, he then wanted to know exactly how many men she had been with, what their names were, if they were still alive…

“Well, you’re not the first woman I’ve ever lain with either.”

“So you did fuck this Tyene Sand, I’m assuming when you were in Dorne to meet with her mother about an alliance?” She crossed her arms over her chest angrily and though he was as nettled with her as she was with him, he couldn’t help but think how adorable she looked just then. And at least if she was jealous, it meant she wanted  _ him _ and not Jaime Lannister.

He sighed, finally giving into her. “It was months ago. It ended very quickly. And you should keep in mind, I  _ had _ just come back from the dead,” he pointed out and to his delight, she broke into a reluctant grin. “And I hadn’t met you yet,” he went on, more serious. “Had I known…I would have waited for you.” He got up and crossed the room then, taking her wine glass and setting it on the table behind them and pulling her to him, kissing the back of her neck. 

She sighed and looked back at him. “I guess I forgive you.”

“Forgive me?” Jon asked incredulous.

“Yes, forgive you,” Daenerys smiled. “You slept with one of my potential ally’s daughters while on a diplomatic mission. If Ellaria had found out--”

Jon interrupted her with an embarrassed laugh. “Ellaria  _ did _ know. And she couldn’t have cared less.” 

Daenerys’s eyes widened with shock. “How in the world did she find out? She didn’t catch you…?”

“No...well, almost.” At his words Dany’s eyes grew even larger, her lips pursed trying to hide her smile. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” Jon sighed, a shy smile playing on his lips. “Tyene was a bit...aggressive in her pursuit of me. She’d cornered me outside my chambers and...what did I say? Something about her mother not liking if I dishonored her in that way and out of nowhere I hear Ellaria’s voice down the hall say she didn’t care what her daughter did in private.” Dany shook her head in amused disbelief. “So,” he began turning her around in his arms. “Are you going to tell me what your business with Jaime Lannister was or do I need to go fight a one handed man?” Daenerys laughed moving them toward the bed so they could sit. 

“You don’t need to fight anyone.” She took both his hands in hers and suddenly Jon noticed how vulnerable she looked. “Jaime’s been telling me about my family. The first night he came back to King’s Landing he sought me out and...and just apologized for so much. Not for killing my father but...but for what happened to my brother’s children and Elia. For not accompanying my mother and Viserys to Dragonstone or going with us across the Narrow Sea when she died.” Her voice grew thick and her eyes brimmed with tears. Jon gripped her hand harder. “The only person I’ve ever known who spent so much time with my family was Barristan Selmy and he died in Meereen. But now that Jaime’s here...it’s like I can finally ask all the questions I’ve always wanted to know. I mean, of course he doesn’t have all the answers,” she clarified. “But it’s nice. Hearing the gaps he can fill in for me. The ones that Viserys never could.” She gave him a watery smile and lay back on the bed and Jon followed her when he was suddenly struck with an idea. How had he not thought to tell her before?

“I just realized...I never told you,” he began, “I don’t know how I forgot to mention it. You’re actually not the first Targaryen I’ve ever met.” Dany leaned into him, her brows tilting up. 

“What? Who?”

“Aemon Targaryen. He was the maester at Castle Black. You would have liked him,” he told her, tracing her cheek with his finger. 

“Is he..?”

“He died a little over a year ago.” She nodded solemnly. “Let’s see, he would have been your...great great uncle. Aegon the fifth’s brother.”

“I never even knew about him. Viserys never told me.” 

“He was a good man. Very wise,” Jon told her thinking back to when he had asked Aemon for advice on what to do about the wildlings. “When I was Lord Commander and I was contemplating letting the wildlings come south, he told me something I’ll never forget.”

“What did he say?” Daenerys asked, full of curiosity.

“He said it was advice he had once given his brother Aegon when he took the Iron Throne. He said, ‘Kill the boy within you…it takes a man to rule. An Aegon, not an Egg.’ Egg was what he called his younger brother. ‘Kill the boy, Jon Snow…and let the man be born.’ Don’t think he literally meant for me to be killed but it’s just as well.” Daenerys smiled, turning on her side and tucking a loose curl behind Jon’s ear. 

“Thank you for telling me about him,” Daenerys said and yawned. Jon raised an eyebrow.

“You’re tired?” She rolled her eyes and smirked. 

“Not that tired…”

Clothes came off quickly and soon they were a tangle of limbs writhing underneath the covers, Daenerys on top, letting out little grunts of pleasure with each thrust. He would never not be amazed at how beautiful she was. The kindness behind her eyes. The smoothness of her skin. The scalding heat of her wrapped around him. She started coming down on him harder, faster, her movements as uneven as her breathing. As Daenerys reached her peak she buried her face in the crook of his neck, hands in his hair tugging, and letting out a groan and Jon followed a few quick thrusts later, joining her in a blinding, toe curling climax.  

As they lay next to each one another afterward, Jon’s face pressed into her hair and arm wrapped around her body, he wondered what either of them would do if she were to become pregnant. He never thought to pull away from her before his release and she never asked him to. Once he had broached the topic with Tyene and she brushed it off easily mentioning something about  _ special tea for that _ . When he was with Ygritte also, it never came up. Though with either Tyene or Ygritte, a child wouldn’t have complicated things quite so much as it would with Daenerys. She was his queen after all. It would have been a gesture of the utmost stupidity and bad manners to father a bastard on the queen. Even now, he still was astonished she let him into her bed at all.  _ But the dreams _ some small part of his subconscious prodded him. They had to mean something. 

Her breathing had become steady and even and Jon knew Daenerys was asleep. Slowly he slipped his fingers up her thigh and rested them tentatively over the flat expanse of her belly. He had never wanted children before. He had been a man of the Night’s Watch, swearing a sacred vow to never take a wife, to never father children, to live and die at his post. And he had. He had served faithfully at the Night’s Watch. But now his watch was ended. And seeing Dany at dinner interacting with little Sam stirred something in him, a feeling he couldn’t shake. He rubbed her belly slightly with his thumb wondering what Daenerys had planned for the future, if she saw him in it in any way. 

As Jon began to drift, his mind somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, he pictured a little girl with dark wavy hair and violet eyes. He could name her for his aunt Lyanna…  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So some people have speculated D&D chose the name Aegon for Jon's real name and that in the books, it will actually be something different. I'm of the belief that that's not the case. The convo between Jon and Aemon in the books - condensed here when he tells Daenerys - seems to hint as much. There are other hints in the books as well but I honestly just don't think D&D would do it for funziez. Some people say it's disrespectful to Rhaegar's first son Aegon. I'm sure Lyanna didn't mean it as such. It was probably just to honor Jon's late brother. Also, it's not uncommon for families to have sons of the same name if they have different mothers. Walder Frey has like a dozen sons and daughters and grandsons and granddaughters named Walder or Walda. So it's not that strange. However, I'm not one of those people who supports Jon changing his name and insisting on being called Aegon! He is Jon Snow. He will always be Jon Snow!
> 
> Part II to follow either tonight or tomorrow.


	19. The Ship - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second leg of the journey to Eastwatch. Sword fighting, drinking games, and more!

The journey north continued to be a dull and chilly one. The further north they sailed, the more furs Jon and Daenerys had to pile on their bed at night until finally, they decided to let Ghost sleep at the end of the bed to keep their feet warm. The direwolf didn’t seem to mind the weather at all, seeming quite at home again in the cold. And of course, he enjoyed all the extra attention he got from Daenerys who, despite their rocky start, had grown very fond of the wolf of late. 

One evening, Jon was in Sam and Gilly’s cabin, looking at a book Sam had brought from the Citadel. It was the same book Sam had found the page about Dragonstone containing the dragonglass. The section Sam showed to Jon was detailed how the Valyrians used to decorate their weapons with the stone and would melt it down using dragon fire. 

“Odd isn’t it?” Sam was asking. “Dragonglass kills wights and the Walkers and so does Valyrian steel. Do you think that’s maybe how they made it?”

“What?” Jon replied. “You mean you think Valyrian steel is actually just forged with dragonglass?” Sam nodded. Jon pursed his lips in thought. “I mean, it is odd that they both kill the dead. But dragonglass is incredibly brittle. Wouldn’t that weaken the steel, not make it stronger?” Sam sighed and frowned. “Besides, what use would it be to make Valyrian steel weapons when we can just use the dragonglass? Would take too much time to forge that many Valyrian steel weapons. And that’s one thing we certainly don’t have. Time.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Sam grumbled, disappointed. “Wouldn’t it be funny though. We discover the secret to creating Valyrian steel. After the war, we could be rich!” Jon smiled and shook his head. 

“Isn’t your family already wealthy?” Jon asked.

“My family is. I’m not.” Jon nodded and closed the book, deep in thought. Sam did have a good point. It was odd these two materials, dragonglass and Valyrian steel - materials that were so closely associated with the Valyrians and magic and  _ fire _ \- killed the dead.  _ Frozen fire _ . Ice and fire. Ice  _ against _ fire? Ice  _ with _ fire? Jon felt as if he were on the outskirts of something, toeing the line of a great truth, like it was right on the tip of his tongue. But he just didn’t have all the pieces to figure this puzzle out. 

“Where is Gilly, by the way?” Little Sam was fast asleep in his crib and had been since Jon arrived. But Gilly was nowhere to be seen.

“She was visiting with the queen and Missandei last I saw of her. Probably still with them.” Jon smiled. He liked that Daenerys had taken to Gilly and sought out her company when Sam was nose deep in his books. Sam looked up from  _ Legends of the Long Night _ , to stare at Jon curiously. “So…Queen Daenerys…” Sam trailed off and a ridiculous, reluctant grin Jon couldn’t hide, spread across his face. “How?” he said impressed.

“I ask myself that same question every night,” Jon confessed.

“ _ Every night? _ ” Sam choked. Jon’s cheeks reddened but he just shrugged and smiled.

“My eyes are killing me,” he told Sam. “I’m not used to looking at books as long as you are. Want me to get you anything?” Jon stood and moved toward the door.

“No, I’m fine. If you see Gilly, don’t tell her I finished the children of the forest book. We were reading it together.” Sam gave him a sheepish smile and Jon’s heart gave a little pang of jealousy. The fact that Sam and Gilly read together was probably the most sickeningly adorable thing he had ever heard of. He wondered what activity he and Dany could do together that didn’t involve them both naked in a bed, though he did enjoy that as well.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Jon reassured him.

 

As he made his way through the ship, Jon heard uproarious laughter coming from the mess hall. Wondering what in the world was going on, he decided to poke his head in and find out. 

“Jon!” Gendry called delighted, his face red from either laughter or wine, Jon couldn’t tell. “Come on, join us!” Curious, Jon approached the little table they were all seated around, his eyebrows raised.

“What are you all doing?” he asked. Nearly everyone was present and they all had glasses of wine in hand, the only sustenance at the table aside from a few forgotten loaves of bread. He noticed Dany had her head rested on Missandei’s shoulder, though she didn’t appear tired, just very clearly tipsy.

“We’re playing a drinking game,” Tyrion explained. Jon snickered.  _ Of course _ Tyrion would make everyone play a drinking game. “It’s fun, I just made it up,” he tempted. 

“What are the rules?” Jon asked, apprehensive.

“No, not like that. More fun. No rules. You start by saying  _ once on a harvest moon _ and then you simply state an activity you’ve either done or not done. If you’ve done it, you drink. If you’ve never done it, you don’t drink.” Jon raised an eyebrow, not sure he understood. “I’ll give you an example. ‘Once on a harvest moon, I rode a dragon’. And since I have never ridden a dragon, I don’t drink.”

“But I would,” Daenerys clarified for Jon, straightening up. “Since I have.”

“Yes. Anyone the statement actually applies to, they have to drink also.” Jon shuffled his feet looking to Daenerys with her cup in hand, to Missandei who wore a wide grin on her face, to Gendry, Jorah and Davos who looked slightly out of place but too inebriated to complain, to Gilly who just looked pleased to be invited to play at all, to Bronn who looked as if he had definitely played this game before, despite Tyrion saying he’d just made it up, and to Jaime who oddly appeared to be quite enjoying himself. 

“Join us Snow,” Tyrion commanded, pouring Jon a cup of wine. Jon sighed and took a seat between Gilly and Gendry, not wanting to be so bold and sit next to Daenerys, though he was fairly certain everyone on board knew which cabin he spent every night in.

“Who goes first?” he asked, looking around the table. 

“Gendry had to drink last,” Tyrion pointed out. “You’re up lad.” 

Gendry’s mouth spread into a wide grin, apparently already knowing what statement he was going to deliver. “Once on a harvest moon, I was knighted by the king.”

“Bahh!” Davos growled.

“You stinking son of a bitch,” Bronn murmured and he, Davos, Jorah, and Jaime all drank. Jon couldn’t help his grin. This may be entertaining. 

“Alright, I got one,” Bronn started. “Once on a harvest moon, I was sold to a red witch for blood magic by the  _ Brotherhood Without Banners _ .” Nearly everyone raised an eyebrow except for Davos and Gendry, who shook his head.

“Shoulda never told you that story,” Gendry got out, sipping from his cup. He looked between Jaime, Davos and Jorah. Jaime spoke first.

“Okay,” he looked at Tyrion who narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Once on a harvest moon, I  _ pet _ a dragon.”

“Oh thank the gods, I thought it was going to involve whores,” Tyrion mumbled and drank. Daenerys shook her head laughing and drank as well and Jon did too. When she noticed Jon lift his cup to his lips though, Daenerys’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What?” she asked him, clearly surprised. Had he forgotten to tell her this story? 

“The night you came back to Dragonstone after the battle,” Jon told her simply. “Was out on the cliffs when Drogon came back and thought you were with him. Was actually lucky he didn’t eat me or Ghost. He had a spear stuck in his shoulder and let me pull it out.” Jon thought she would smile at this story but she just continued to frown. She exchanged a glance with Jaime who’s brow furrowed as well but they both quickly shook off whatever was puzzling them.

“I’ve got one,” Tyrion began. “Once on a harvest moon, I sailed on a ship.” Everyone around the table groaned and laughed and drank but Jon noticed Daenerys still staring at him thoughtfully. When she caught him watching her she gave him a warm smile and looked away.

“Missandei, you haven’t given one in a while,” Gilly encouraged. Missandei smiled and sighed. 

“Once on a harvest moon, I fell in love.” The table groaned again and everyone drank except for Bronn. Missandei looked wistful as she sipped her wine. Davos somewhat sad as he drank his. Jorah’s eyes darted to Daenerys when he brought his cup to his lips which made Jon’s free hand clench. Gendry brought his cup up, lowered it, brought it up, lowered it, then raised it one last time, finally decided, and drank. And Jon looked at Daenerys out of the corner of his eye, only turning fully to her when he saw she was looking back at him. She gave him another smile and touched her cup to her lips, as Jon did. 

Tyrion encouraged Gilly to speak next. “Once on a harvest moon, I...travelled to Winterfell.” She shrugged as if she could come up with nothing more but Jaime, Tyrion and Jorah drank.

“Does it count if you were traveling there but never actually made it?” Gendry asked.

Tyrion chuckled knowingly. “Of course it counts.” Gendry smiled, took a deep breath and drank. “Snow, don’t cheat,” Tyrion told Jon. 

“I’m not cheating,” Jon defended. “I  _ grew up _ in Winterfell. There’s a difference.”

“Ahh,” Jaime shook a finger at him. “But you weren’t born there. Ergo you would have had to travel there when you were a baby. Drink up.” Jon shook his head and drank.

“Where were you born Commander Snow?” Missandei asked, seeming genuinely curious. All eyes suddenly turned to Jon and he shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“I...I don’t know.” He hated the pitying looks he got from most of those around the table. “Somewhere in the South, I think.”

“I’ve got one,” Daenerys started, pulling attention away from him, for which Jon was immensely grateful. “Once on a harvest moon, I  _ met _ a king.” Everyone rolled their eyes again and all except Missandei and Daenerys drank. But Jorah pointed an accusatory finger at Dany.

“King of Qarth, Xaro Xhoan Daxos.” 

“He doesn’t count!” Daenerys protested with a laugh.

“Of course he counts! Oh, and what about Viserys?” Tyrion pondered.

“Viserys was never  _ crowned _ .”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jon laughed. “Drink.”

 

Later that evening everyone except Jon and Daenerys had stumbled out of the mess hall, and the amount of alcohol Jon had consumed was making him feel bold. He slid in the chair next to Dany and brushed a braid back behind her ear. “Can I escort you to your cabin,  _ my queen? _ ” he murmured, leaning in and kissing her neck. Daenerys flushed and rolled her eyes, knowing he really meant  _ their _ cabin. 

“Of course you can,  _ Lord Commander _ ,” Daenerys answered with a very girlish and uncharacteristic giggle. 

Once the cabin door had been bolted Jon pushed her up against it, invading her mouth, hands pulling up her skirts and she frantically tugged at the ties on his trousers. As they pulled at each other’s clothing Daenerys started to laugh into his mouth and Jon pulled back, confused. He raised a suspicious eyebrow at her but she just wrapped her arms around his torso and pulled him closer. “It’s like you were raised by wolves,” she muttered and Jon laughed too.

“Do you like that?” he asked quietly, not sure whether she was chastising him or giving him a compliment.

“Well, I suppose it’s only fitting,” she said tracing one of the direwolves on his armor. “But yes, I  _ love _ when you’re a wolf.” She kissed him again, both of them giggling as they stumbled towards the bed. Once the mattress hit the back of her knees, Jon decided he  _ really _ wanted to be a wolf for her. 

Suddenly he broke their kiss and spun her around, wrapping an arm about her waist to balance her and he nibbled behind her ear, enjoying the moan that escaped her lips. “Like this,” Jon murmured, hiking up her skirts once more and grinding his erection into her backside. Just the thought of her bent over for him, on her hands and knees...his cock throbbed at the images playing in his head.

“What?” Daenerys said in a dazed voice. He got her skirts pulled up all the way and sank to his knees to kiss and bite her pert behind before standing and finally unlacing his trousers. He pulled her to him again and purred in her ear.

“Like this,” he repeated, grinding his cock into her backside. “I want you like this. Bend over.” He placed a hand on her back to slide her down toward the bed while the other gripped his cock, ready to enter her. 

“Jon,” Daenerys breathed, freezing. He rubbed his cock through her folds reveling in her wetness. “Jon  _ stop _ .” She pushed away from him and moved to sit on the bed several feet away, breathing heavy. “I’m sorry,” she got out in a small voice, Jon’s heart sinking. “I just...I’m sorry. I don’t like it like... _ that _ .” 

He straightened his clothes again and sat down next to her, taking her hands in his. “Dany you don’t have to apologize.”  _ Gods _ he was so stupid. “I should have asked.”

“No, I know I’m being silly,” she went on thickly, attempting to put the blame on herself but Jon wouldn’t have it. Inside he was seething, but not because of her reaction. Because of whoever had treated her so poorly in the past to make her feel this way. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

“You’re  _ not _ being silly,” he reassured her. When she refused to look at him he took her chin in hand and turned her toward him, hating that he saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes. “Don’t ever apologize for that Dany. I want you to know I would  _ never _ hurt you.” She nodded but turned away from him again. “ _ I’m _ sorry. I really should have asked. I don’t want you to think I would just try…that I would…without you wanting to as well…” Daenerys closed her eyes, breaths finally steadying. 

“I know,” she told him finally. “I don’t know why I got so upset all of a sudden. I was being--” But Jon silenced her with a soft finger over her lips.

“Shhh. You’re not silly.  _ You’re mine _ ,” he whispered. He let his finger fall and settled his hand back in his lap but the small intimate touch made Dany’s eyes start to dilate again and she nodded absentmindedly at his words. He wanted to pull her in to kiss her again but this time though, he would wait for her. 

And she did come to him, smoothing a hand over the side of his face to bring his lips to hers. They took their time undressing each other, Jon making sure to kiss every inch of her he could as he revealed more of her soft skin. He had wanted to let her take the lead, to be on top, but she lay on her back below him as if determined. He crouched over her, kissing her sweetly, ready to take her when she broke their kiss, looked him deep in the eye, then slowly turned over on her stomach and rubbed her behind against his erection. 

“Like this,” she whispered and Jon’s heart thudded wildly.

“Dany, we don’t have to,” Jon reassured her but she just shook her head, sliding her hands up and underneath the pillow in front of her. 

“I want to. Really, I’m ready for it now.  _ Please _ ,” she whispered, looking back to him from over her shoulder. All he could do was nod. It meant the world to him that she trusted him so. Even still, he wanted her to feel comfortable and relaxed and not think about all the other times she had been taken this way and treated so roughly. He wanted to make her forget about all of that. He wanted to love her until the only one she remembered was him.

He started by rubbing her back, working the muscles there wherever he found them tight or knotted. When he kneaded her shoulders she let out little pants and grunts of pleasure but as his hands circled lower to her ribs she jerked forward, gasping and looking back at him with a smile on her face.

Jon stifled a grin. “Are you ticklish?” he whispered.

She pursed her lips and turned away from him, he knew, so he wouldn’t see her lying. “No,” she shot back with a little giggle. Jon’s smile widened and he made a note to remember that for later. But for now he let her be and moved lower to the curve of her behind. The skin silken and supple, the muscle taut. He kneaded it with firm fingers and Daenerys let out a sigh that turned to a groan, burying her face in the pillow. Jon smiled and leaned up to kiss her below the ear. 

“Good?” He asked nuzzling her and licking her shoulder and neck as his continued to work her and she hummed her approval.

“Lots of sitting around when you’re on a ship,” she mused, turning back to him. “My backside’s been a bit sore of late.” 

Jon chuckled and started to kiss down her back. “Well, I’ll just have to pay more attention to it from now on, won’t I?” Dany groaned and squirmed under him as his kisses dipped lower, one on each cheek, down her thighs. When he made his way back up, face getting closer to the junction of her thighs, she tilted her hips away from him, making his grin widen. “Pull your knees up a bit,” he instructed her. She hesitated but when he made no move to position himself behind her, she did as he said. 

With the little gap that was created between the bed and her center, Jon quickly flipped onto his back, scooting up so his head was between her thighs. Dany gave a little gasp and he looked up to see her head bent down watching him. A devious grin pulled at the corners of his mouth and he slid his hands up the backs of her thighs, bringing her to him. He gave her a quick lick up her folds making her gasp again, then began teasing her with tongue and lips and fingers.

The closer Dany got to her release, the more her hips moved of their own volition and Jon savored every moment of it. He loved seeing her like this. Completely giving herself over to the throes of pleasure. With a final few licks, her back arched and he knew Daenerys was lost in her climax. He smiled to himself, slipping out from under her and stifling a laugh when she collapsed onto the bed.

As he climbed back up her body, she spread her legs wider and Jon positioned himself. When he looked down at her, she had her face buried in the pillows, her body heaving with heavy breaths, whether from her release or nerves, he wasn’t entirely sure. As he stretched his body over hers, he snuck one hand under her and gripped her breast, kissing her back. The breaths began to slow and when he thought she had relaxed into him, he slowly slid himself inside her. 

A muffled little whimper escaped her and Jon pushed his face into her back with a guttural groan. It was  _ so _ tight this way. As he started to move, he brought both hands up to hers, stretched out under the pillow and he slid his fingers between hers, entwining them. Every part of him was touching every part of her and it felt  _ so good _ . It was all Jon could do to resist the temptation to buck his hips wildly against backside in an attempt to temper some of the ache between his legs. He knew he had to ease her into it. Daenerys angled her hips forward and brought a knee up giving him better access and Jon quickened his pace, just a little. As he steadily thrust into her harder and hugged her tighter to him, kissing and licking and biting her neck, she let out raspy little moans in time with his movements seemingly unable to control the amount of noise she was making. She tilted her head back, eyes closed, and Jon shifted, taking her chin in his hands and leaning over to kiss her sloppily. “ _ Touch me _ ,” she whispered and he immediately slithered a hand between her legs and began stroking her there. Her fingers of their still twined hands gripping him harder and her toes curled and uncurled, her eyes clenched shut again, mouth hanging open in a silent cry and he knew she was on the edge once more. “ _ Jon _ ,” she murmured, bringing her hand to the back of his head to pull him in for another kiss. Their tongues danced together briefly and then she broke away, letting her face fall forward into the pillow, crying out her release. Her hips snapped so wildly Jon had to reach down and grip her so she wouldn’t unseat him and when he buried himself right to the very end of her he grunted out and followed her.

He would have collapsed on top of Dany with his full weight but she shifted underneath him quickly, turning on her back once more. Their foreheads touched and Jon realised her eyes were damp. 

“ _ Dany _ ,” he panted worried. “ _ Did I hurt you? _ ” But she just shook her head, running a hand along the side of his face in a sweet caress. She pulled him down to kiss like she needed him to breathe and soon they were lost in each other again.

 

They were a few days out from Eastwatch yet but Jaime and Bronn were relentless in their training. As it was too cold for them to go on deck and fight, they cleared tables in the mess hall between meals and took advantage of the large space. It had become a passtime of the rest of the passengers to watch them from time to time. Tyrion always challenging anyone nearest him to a wager, which Daenerys would always frown down upon but had secretly taken him up a few times and lost every bet.

Occasionally, when Bronn or Jaime would tire of the other, Jaime would coax different challengers, arguing the more variety of swordsmen he faced, the better he’d become with his left. So far, Jorah, Davos, and Gendry had challenged him, Jorah being the only one of the three to best Jaime. Qhono, when hearing of a challenge from Missandei, had apparently offered to fight Jaime, but when he learned it would be with blunted longswords and he wouldn’t be able to use his arakh, he lost interest.

One afternoon, Jon and Dany were sitting at one of the tables at the side of the hall, pouring over one of Sam’s maps of the North beyond The Wall, when Jaime got Jon’s attention. “Snow, come on. I want to see what you can do,” he beckoned as Bronn took a seat and extracted his wineskin, clearly having had enough for the day. Jon and Dany exchanged glances, with Daenerys giving him a wide, hopeful grin. But Jon would not be that easily taunted.

“Bit busy trying to figure out a way to defeat your sister, Lannister.” 

“Go on, pretty boy,” Bronn goaded. “If your sword skills are half as good as your hair, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” 

“Oh he’s better than that, I’ve heard,” Jaime went on. “Talk of you had started to spread to King’s Landing before we left it. Bastard of Winterfell, greatest swordsman in the North. Some argued greatest swordsman who ever lived. I want to see if that’s true.” He walked over and poked Jon with the sparring sword. 

“Go on,” Dany encouraged.

“See, the queen wants to see you fight.” Jaime poked him again.

“I don’t think it’ll be half as impressive when I knock a one handed man to the ground,” Jon jested, not liking at all being put on the spot. 

“You heard the queen,” Jaime reminded. “Pick up the damn sword. I want to see something.” There was an oddness to Jaime’s voice when he said that that caused Jon to finally set down the ale in his hand and look up from the table. 

“What?” Jon asked suspiciously.

Jaime smiled, triumphant. “Just…had an odd thought. Come on, get up.” Bronn tossed his sword to Jon as he stood which Jon caught easily and gave it a little flourish. It had been a while since Jon had actually had need to use a sword. Not since The Wall. He wore Longclaw on him most of the time back when they were on land but now on the ship, it stayed propped against the night table next to his and Dany’s bed. 

Jaime advanced first, and their movements were tame, learning each other’s footing, swords occasionally clanging but coming quickly apart again. The more confident Jon grew, the more aggressive he became in his movements, though still greatly holding back as he knew Jaime was at a disadvantage.

But, sensing Jon’s restraint, Jaime, pressed him harder. “Come on Snow, quit dicking around and fight me like you mean it.” Jon took a deep breath then started in on Jaime with renewed vigor.  _ Lunge _ ,  _ dodge _ ,  _ strike _ ,  _ parry _ . Jaime was growing more ferocious and Jon more untamed. Though his opponent was certainly not on the same level or coordination as him, Jon still enjoyed the exertion immensely. Their swords clanged and slashed, their feet shuffling and pivoting, bodies diving and lurching. Once Jaime tired the same trick on Jon he’d used on Bronn, bringing his gold hand up to whack him in the face but Jon saw it coming and he ducked, using the extra time it bought him to thrust forward, finally knocking Jaime to the ground hard, his sword clattering several feet away.

Jaime stared at him, mouth open for a moment, either impressed, surprised, pissed or some combination, Jon wasn’t sure. But being the good sport that he was, he offered a hand to the knight which Jaime accepted, shaking off whatever thoughts had entered his mind at his defeat. Daenerys clapped politely and Jaime shot her a look. Jon noticed his cheeks were slightly pink from embarrassment.

“Not bad Snow. I’ve only ever seen a few men in my lifetime fight like that,” Jaime commented. Not long after, Jaime left with some weak excuse of wanting to talk with Varys but Jon knew he was probably just retreating to lick his wounds in private. While Jon was fairly sure he would have been able to beat Jaime when he was whole, the knight still fought fairly well with his left and made for a somewhat good fight. 

“I’m impressed,” Bronn commented once Jaime had left the mess hall. “I never did get a chance to see the Kingslayer in his glory days but--”

“You shouldn’t call him that,” Daenerys warned darkly. 

“Why not?” Bronn asked nonchalant. “He is a Kingslayer. Killed your father.”

“I know that but--”

“But nothing. It’s what he is. You’re the Mad King’s daughter. He’s the Bastard of Winterfell,” Bronn gestured to Jon. “We’ve all got names we don’t like,” he argued. “But doesn’t make them any less true.” Without waiting for a response from either Jon or Daenerys, Bronn patted Jon on the shoulder and left.

 

Later that evening Jon was in their room to grab a book he needed to return to Sam when he noticed Longclaw leaning against his night table. Staring at the bastard sword, he felt a pang of guilt. Jeor Mormont had given him that sword. But with Jorah back in Westeros, it didn’t really belong to him. Nodding his head in decision, Jon picked up the sword and marched to Jorah’s cabin and knocked. 

When Jorah called for him to enter, Jon did and closed the door behind him. Jorah looked up from his writing table and set down his quill. “Commander Snow,” he began. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Without preamble, Jon carefully laid Longclaw down on the desk in front of Jorah. “Your father gave me this sword,” he started. “Had the pommel changed from a bear to a wolf. But it’s still Longclaw.” Jorah stood slowly and gingerly picked up the sword, unsheathing it just a bit, looking at it as if upon a long lost friend. “Lord Commander Mormont thought you’d never come back to Westeros. But you are back. And, it’s been in your family for centuries. It’s not right for me to have it.”

Jorah finally looked up at Jon from the sword, realization dawning on him. “He gave it to you,” the exiled knight told him firmly, sword still in hand.

“I’m not his son,” Jon reminded him, thinking of the day he had received this sword. The bittersweetness of the moment. Longclaw was beautiful and the changes Commander Mormont had made to make the sword fit for a Stark were touching, even down to the garnets in the pommel-wolf’s eyes to match Ghost’s red ones. But if Jon could have chosen, he would have wanted his own father to bequeath his ancestral sword to him instead.

Jorah sighed. “I brought shame into my house. I broke my father’s heart. I forfeited the right to claim this sword.” Jorah sheathed Longlaw again and handed it back to Jon, a sad smile on his face. “It’s yours. May it serve you well. And your children after you.”

_ Children _ . It was easy for a man like Jorah to talk of children. He may have been an exiled knight but when Daenerys took the throne, it wouldn’t matter. Jorah would be pardoned and either serve her in King’s Landing or return to be Lord of Bear Island. His name wasn’t a bastard name and he was the son of a great man. For a man like Jorah, children weren’t only natural, they were  _ expected _ . 

But for someone like Jon, a  _ Snow _ , children had been the furthest thing from his mind. Until... _ Dragonstone _ . 

 

As he curled up next to Daenerys that night however, something more pressing than the children he didn’t have plagued his mind. “Who was he?” Jon asked quietly, holding her tight to him. He had planned to ask her only once they were in this position so she wouldn’t have to look at him, knowing the memory was painful for her. 

“Drogo,” she said in a small voice. Jon had suspected as much. “I don’t think it was really his fault. That’s just the Dothraki way. He didn’t know any different until I suggested it.” Jon closed his eyes to help steady his breathing, trying not to picture a small teenage Dany being taken advantage of by some heathen warrior. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen when she was forced to wed Drogo. 

“You cared for him?” Jon asked, making a slight change of subject. 

“I…grew to love him. He protected me. And he did care for me even if he wasn’t so gentle with me physically. It was hard not to love him after I found out I would give him a son.”

“A son?” Jon stammered. He had heard her refer to the dragons as her children before, but never had she spoken to him of an actual child.  _ She had a son? _

“It happened not long after we were first wed of course,” Daenerys explained, her voice becoming oddly monotone. “But I lost him…” she trailed off and Jon noticed the tears in her eyes. She had lost a child. Though he had never wanted children in his youth and thought he would never have them, Jon could think of no worse fate than losing a son or daughter.

“How?” was all he could get out. 

“Kind of a complicated story,” Dany told him, her voice strained. 

“If you want to tell me, I’m willing to listen,” Jon reassured her, hugging her tighter. Daenerys nodded, rubbing her cheek on his arm. He could feel her tears fall there. 

“Drogo was injured,” she began, her voice quiet and he was surprised she was actually going to tell him. He had thought she would at least wait a while before deciding whether or not she even wanted to. He had to strain to hear her every word but heard her, needing to know what she went through. “Thought it was just a scratch at first. But it became infected. He was dying. Fell from his horse. A village the khalasar had raided weeks before, I saved one of the women Drogo’s men wanted to rape, or at least I thought I had. She was a maegi. I asked her if there was some kind of magic that could save him. She told me there was but it required sacrifice, blood magic. I was stupid enough to believe her when she said it would only be a horse that needed to die.” She paused and Jon could feel her shaking, his own throat tight at her words. He knew Drogo had died. To lose her husband and her son at the same time… “I never got to hold him,” she went on. “I wasn’t even conscious when they pulled him from me. Fever dreams. Kept telling me to  _ wake the dragon _ . When I final came to a few days later, Jorah told me my son was dead. And Drogo...he wasn’t alive, not truly. He was just...a shell.” She gave a bitter, harsh little laugh. “I asked her, the witch, when he would be as he was. It was just a joke.”

“What did she tell you?” Jon asked, not knowing what else to say.

“She said, ‘ _ When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before. _ ’ I lost everything then. In an instant, just, gone.” She sniffled and he rubbed her back through her uneven breathing. But Jon’s heart pumped hard at her words.  _ When your womb quickens again and you bear a living child _ … What in the world did that mean?

“Dany...what she said...does it mean…?” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He thought back to his dreams from Dragonstone then. Of Dany, her belly ripe with his child. The prospect becoming a father had scared the daylights out of him, but hearing her say it was impossible, that his dreams had been just that, dreams...that hurt infinitely more.

“I can’t have children,” she whispered thickly. “I’m sorry if you had any hope for...we could never….I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner.” All Jon could do was hug her tighter to him, try to reassure her that he wanted her there, that he needed her. 

“That doesn’t matter to me,” he lied. “I was a man of the Night’s Watch. I never thought it was something I would ever have. I just want you.” Her body shook again with another sob and he buried his face in the hair at the nape of her neck, not wanting her to be able to turn around and see that his eyes brimmed with tears as well. 

“How can you never have wanted a child?” she whispered and luckily he was smart enough to know it was a rhetorical question. There was no way he could answer it honestly. “I was attacked in Meereen and Drogon saved me and carried me off into the Dothraki sea…”

“Jorah told me.”

“Before the Dothraki found me…” she sniffled again. “I hadn’t even known. I didn’t realize...but then it was gone. I saw the blood and I knew.” Jon pulled away from her slightly, his mind racing. “I’m cursed to only be the mother of dragons. Cursed to be the last Targaryen.” Dany sighed, the shaking of her shoulders calming. But what was she saying? 

“Dany…” Jon began, not knowing exactly how to ask what he was about to ask but needing to know. If he had caught it and she didn’t… “Dany when you say  _ blood _ ...before the Dothraki found you…?”

“I miscarried.” Her voice was much chillier, not wanting to be so explicit as if irritated she had to spell it out for him.  _ When your womb quickens again _ . Did she really not understand? Jon wasn’t about to pretend to be an expert on women’s bodies or their cycles or pregnancies or even witches curses. But she had to have seen it. Or perhaps she was just too upset and to stubborn to realize the truth.

“Dany,” he started again, his voice gentle, hoping he wouldn’t offend her with his suggestion. “...Dany what you just said...it really doesn’t fit.”

“What?” she asked shortly, turning to face him again. 

Jon swallowed hard before continuing. “If you miscarried, if you had indeed been pregnant again, then you’re not cursed.” She huffed and frowned at him. “Listen to me. What this witch said. She could have left it at  _ when you bear a living child _ . That would have sufficed to say you would never be able to have children. But she didn’t just say that.” Jon took another deep breath watching her lips purse into a thin line. “She said  _ when your womb quickens again _ as well. Which it already has. So she was wrong.”

“I don’t want to talk about this, Jon,” she hissed and turned back over, facing away from him. Jon exhaled loudly, now slightly irritated with her. 

“And this curse, whatever you want to call it,” Jon pressed on, sitting up on his elbow and ignoring the way she rolled her eyes. “It has nothing to do with you. It was about Drogo being as he was. But he’s ashes now anyway so of course he won’t come back--”

“Jon  _ enough _ ,” she insisted, turning back to face him and sitting up as well. “I told you I don’t want to talk about this. I’ve accepted it and I don’t need you tempting me to hope for something I will never get to have.”

“Dany…” Jon’s eyes widened at her sudden attack. He had never seen her so angry before. He had only been trying to help. 

She sighed then and he could see the fight go out of her. “Just...go to sleep.” She turned back around and hugged her pillow. Curling up behind her but not touching, Jon was unsure whether she even wanted him there. But to his relief, she reached back and took his hand, draping it across her side and pressing her back into him. However, he still had to know one more thing.

“Dany,” he began quietly and she shifted. “Can I ask you something without you getting angry?”

“That’s not a great way to start,” she mumbled.

Jon sighed. “If...if you were able to have children…” he ignored her exasperated exhale. “…would you want them with me?”  

“Jon, I can’t give you children,” she reminded him, her voice sounding hurt. 

“That’s not what I’m asking, I swear. I’m saying if you could. Would I be…even though I’m…a  _ Snow? _ ” She searched his eyes, finally realizing what he was truly asking her.  _ Where do you see this going? What do I mean to you? Am I merely your  _ mistress _ or can this be more? _

“I came to Westeros,” she began in a quiet voice, “because I wanted to end the cycle of people being taken advantage of by those more powerful. Tyrion says it can’t happen in a single lifetime but whatever I can do while I’m here, I will. I won’t stop working toward that goal. It’s why I want the Iron Throne melted down when we return to King’s Landing because it will have no place in the world I wish to create. And in that world,” she paused and took a deep breath. “In that world, a person’s birth and surname will not matter. Only his actions.” She smoothed a hand over his face and kissed him sweetly. It wasn’t a direct answer. But he supposed being in the midst of a war, it was the best he could hope for. She turned to her side again and he hugged her tight to him, wondering what the next few months of their lives would look like. When he closed his eyes in a half-hearted attempt at sleep, though his mind was still racing, Jon realized he hadn’t dreamt at all since Dragonstone. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like with last chapter some book-only references. Like allusion to Dany's miscarriage in DWD, not shown in s5. And because I figure people would wonder, no Dany has not told Jaime of her suspicions Jon's parentage might not be what he thinks it is. More, its just in their conversations she's made certain comments (on purpose) that have stuck with Jaime so he's started to do some wondering of his own. Neither know anything for sure or have talked about their suspicions with each other.
> 
> Oh yes and obviously ‘Once on a harvest moon’ is just ‘Never have I ever.’ But never have I ever sounded too modern so the wording is just changed. Tyrion loves his drinking games ;)


	20. Eastwatch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Targaryen arrives at Eastwatch to many reunions. Dany receives a special gift. Jon Snow knows some things.
> 
> This chapter starts with part of Jaime and Daenerys's conversation from the boat (in italics).

_ “Tell me about my brother Ser Jaime,” Daenerys prompted, her eyes both eager and sad. Jaime couldn’t blame her. Rhaegar was a great man in his time. Would have made a great king if that hot headed oaf Robert Baratheon hadn’t slain him on the Trident.  _

_ “What would you like to know, your grace?” Daenerys pursed her lips a moment, thinking.  _

_ “When Ser Barristan came to Essos to serve me, he told me Rhaegar was the finest man he ever knew.” _

_ Jaime smiled. “I think I could second that opinion, your grace.” _

_ “That being said,” she went on, “Jaime…the story Robert Baratheon spread about my brother, kidnapping and raping Lyanna Stark...what do you know of it?” _

_ “I think Robert and the northmen were the only ones who really believed and perpetuated that story. Lyanna was set to marry Robert who’d already gained a reputation for himself for being a drunkard and a womanizer, one bastard child under his belt. Given the choice between some whoring lord of Storm’s End or the noble and handsome crown price… I think she and your brother just ran away together.” _

_ “Ran away together and got married,” Daenerys added.  _

_ “Well, I mean it’s possible,” Jaime reasoned. “But he was already—” _

_ “His marriage to Elia Martell was annulled. Commander Snow’s friend Samwell Tarly found it in an old diary of High Septon Maynard. He performed the annulment and married Rhaegar and Lyanna at the same time.” _

_ “WHAT?” Jaime choked.  _ This  _ he had not heard. It was not even whispered about.  _

_ “It was a secret ceremony in Dorne,” Daenerys added.  _ Some fucking secret, _ Jaime thought. Did it change anything though? Maybe it changed nothing. Maybe it changed everything. “If they ran away together and got married, why do you think Rhaegar even bothered to return during the Rebellion?” she asked. Jaime’s mind was still reeling at the revelation of the Stark-Targaryen wedding.  _ Fuck. _ But the queen’s question, this he thought he at least could answer. May have been the only person in the world who had an answer to this one. “I think he planned to force your father to abdicate once he ended the Rebellion. Push Aerys out, put an end to all the madness. Then take his place as King,” Jaime told her, remembering his last ever conversation with Rhaegar before he left for the Trident. _

_ “But if he was going to come back, why run away at all?” Daenerys pressed. “Yes Lyanna was betrothed to Robert but Rhaegar was the crown prince, as you said. He could do as he pleased. And if he planned to force our father to abdicate anyway, having an alliance with the North would have been to his advantage, even if he only wanted Lyanna because he was in love with her.” It was too much for Jaime to take in so early in the day and having finished his wineskin after sparring with Bronn. There had always been some sense of mystery surrounding the whole of the Rebellion. And Daenerys seemed to be asking just the right questions no one bothered asking at the time. But everyone who was alive back then who knew any of the right answers was dead. Aerys. Arthur Dayne. Robert Baratheon. Rickard and Brandon Stark. Rhaegar. Lyanna. Ned…  _

_ “Maybe Rhaegar feared for Lyanna’s safety if he brought her to court,” Jaime spitballed. “Maybe he feared insulting the Dornish if it got out he had annulled his marriage. Maybe…” _

_ “Maybe what?” Daenerys encouraged.  _

_ Maybe... _ No _. That wouldn’t have been possible. There was never any...but then who would have known? They were all dead. But if that were the case then where was the…and who…?  _ NO _. It couldn’t be. Jaime shook the thoughts away. It was ludicrous. He almost could have laughed at the audacity of it. So foolish there was no point in mentioning it to her grace.  _ Daenerys.  _ Jaime did smile at the thought.  _ The queen _ …it  _ would _ have changed everything. But it was crazy. Couldn’t possibly be. Like some tale from a song. “I’m all out of ideas, I’m afraid, your grace.”  _

 

“SANSA?” Jon shouted when she came rushing out the castle doors as their skiff hit the sand. He had just enough time to clamber out of the little boat and turn to Daenerys to see her give him an approving smile when Sansa leapt into his arms, nearly crushing him. Even after all their letters, knowing she was alive and well and safe, seeing her in person felt nearly so unreal, Jon wasn’t sure how he could tell it was actually happening.  _ She was here _ . The first real family he had seen since Benjen was lost beyond The Wall years ago. 

She held him so tight he could barely breathe but Jon didn’t care. It had been  _ so _ long since their family had been together at Winterfell and happy and whole. Father was gone. Robb was gone. Sansa’s mother gone. Rickon held captive by the fucking Boltons. But at least now he and Sansa were together. 

He opened his eyes to see Daenerys standing a respectful distance away, discreetly dabbing at the tears in her eyes. It puzzled him at first as to why seeing him reunite with his sister would make her so emotional but then it hit him. Daenerys had no family left in the world...at all. Still, something in her reaction touched on a thread he had recently started pulling on and he quietly filed the moment under the growing list at the back of his mind. “Sansa,” Jon said softly, and she slowly broke away from him looking just as overwhelmed by the moment as he felt. “This is...Queen Daenerys.”  

“It’s so good to finally meet you, Lady Stark,” Daenerys breathed, taking both Sansa’s hands in her own. 

“You as well, your grace,” Sansa smiled affectionately.

“Sansa,” Jon said again, his thoughts finally starting to catch up with him. “What in seven hells are you doing here?”

Instead of give him a straight answer right away, she got distracted by the arrival of Tyrion walking up the beach from the skiff.

“Beloved wife,” Tyrion greeted sarcastically but his words made Sansa’s cheeks blush all the same. Jon raised an eyebrow at Daenerys who simply shrugged. Tyrion approached Sansa and took her hand in his, kissing it respectfully. 

“Let’s go inside,” Sansa told them quietly. “We’ll talk there. Everyone’s waiting for you. They’ve put together a feast.” Jon’s mind reeled as they made their way to the castle. Walking slightly behind Sansa and Tyrion he thought he heard her tell him how he had been her  _ favorite husband _ . 

Once inside the great hall of Eastwatch, it seemed there was a reunion around every corner. Tyrion and Bronn with some squire Jon didn’t recognize. Jaime with a woman Sansa told him was her sworn sword, Lady Brienne of Tarth who had brought her to Castle Black all those months ago. Jorah with a couple scraggly men Gendry hurriedly hissed to Jon were from the  _ Brotherhood Without Banners _ and had been the ones who sold him to Melisandre for blood magic. Missandei with Grey Worm. Jon himself received another rib-breaking hug from Tormund who’d apparently been here with a few of the free folk since Ed had got the threatening letter from Ramsay. 

Edmure Tully was there, Sandor Clegane,  _ The Hound _ , though Jon had no idea why, Tyene and her sister Nymeria sat across the room. So many people had been brought together, here in the oddest of places, at the end of the world, once sworn enemies, now laughing and breaking bread, drinking ale, and catching up with one another. Lannister, Stark, Targaryen, North, East, West, and South, Night’s Watchmen and wildlings, bastards and royalty. They were all on even footing now. Every single one of them here to work together for a common goal.

As they sat and ate, Jon explained to Dany who everyone around the room was, who he knew at least with Tyrion helping to fill in when he didn’t. Then Daenerys inclined her head to a familiar looking Dornish woman. “That her?” she asked quietly. Whether it was the cold bleakness of the North and The Wall or the fact that her mother had died a couple months ago, Jon wasn’t sure. But the young Dornish woman definitely didn’t look like the carefree vixen he’d said goodbye to some half year prior. Jon nodded reluctantly. “Go to her,” Dany encouraged, squeezing his thigh under the table. “I’m sure she could use the comfort.” He looked to Dany then and saw something in her eyes that was both warm and understanding. In that moment he wanted to pull her in and kiss her, letting her know how amazing he thought she was but he couldn’t. Too many unwelcome eyes around the room. So he just gave her a grateful smile and took the seat in front of his one-time lover. 

“Don’t apologize,” Tyene told him immediately. Jon nodded and stayed quiet, not feeling the need to fill the silence and respect whatever time she needed to find her words again. While he appreciated her brave facade, he also knew what it was like to lose a parent and knew what she must have been going through. Without asking if he wanted any, she poured him a cup of a horribly familiar looking substance and he took it, trying not to inhale. He had had Tormund’s sour goats milk on only one previous occasion and had sworn never again. But for Tyene and all she had gone through in the last year, he would. 

“Mama knew Cersei’s wrath would follow her for what she did to Myrcella,” Tyene said after a while. “I wanted the girl dead for what happened to my father as well but now…” she trailed off thoughtfully and took a sip of the goat’s milk, impressively without making a face. “Oberyn died trying to avenge my aunt Elia. My mother killed Myrcella to avenge Oberyn. And Cersei killed her to avenge her daughter.” Tyene sighed. “Where does it end? If I tried to kill Cersei and died, would my sisters avenge me? And if they died would someone avenge them? It’s so stupid. The wars we fight amongst ourselves. When the real war is just on the other side of this Wall.”

“Have you heard anything? Any movement from the Others?” Jon asked, glad the North had seemed to cool Tyene’s demeanor and she was thinking clearly. 

“We sent a group of fifty men out about three months ago,” Tormund jumped in. “After your sister’s raven. Some Night’s Watchmen, some of the Free Folk, and some of the Dornishmen.” 

“Obara was with them,” Tyene added sadly.

“They didn’t come back?” Jon guessed. 

Tyene shook her head solemnly. “They didn’t come back.” 

“Since then, we’ve been working to reinforce The Wall best we can,” Tormund went on. “And of course, this little one and her sister and that Tully man have been trying to rally as many northern houses to our side against the Land-sitters and that Ramsay cunt.” 

Jon suppressed a smile. “ _ Lannisters _ ,” Tyene corrected him, for probably what Jon guessed was not the first time. 

“Whatever you like,” Tormund waved a hand impatiently. “They’ll be nothing but charred bones once we’re done with them. Those dragons are big fuckers--”

“Hmm hmm,” someone cleared her throat behind them and Jon smiled as Tormund’s cheeks pinked at the sight of Daenerys. 

“Mind if I join you?” she asked and Jon stood to let her sit at his side. “Tyrion and Ser Bronn began another game of  _ Once on a harvest moon _ at our table and I didn’t think I could last another game.” 

“So you’re the dragon queen?” Tormund gawked, and Jon noticed Tyene roll her eyes at him. 

“Daenerys is fine, Lord Giantsbane.” At her formal address Tormund’s face went even redder but he spoke again anyway.

“Never thought I’d ever see dragons. Never thought I’d see the dead walk. Never thought I’d be down south, working and eating alongside crows.”

“You’re a crow too,” Tyene chided. “You help guard The Wall and defend the realm from the dead. You’re a crow, I’m a crow. We’re all crows now. And  _ this _ is not the south.” 

Before Tormund could open his mouth to retort, Jon spoke. “You mentioned rallying other northern houses to our side. Who’ve you got?”

“Ramsay has the Glovers, Karstarks, Umbers, and a few other smaller houses,” Tyene began. “We’ve got Houses Mormont, Mazin, Hornwood, and Reed. Your Dothraki couldn’t get past Moat Cailin because it’s held by Bolton men so the crannogmen are helping them find an alternate route North through the bogs. That’s why we haven’t heard from them in a while and they haven’t taken Winterfell.”  _ Fuck _ . They had been counting on the Dothraki and forces from the Westerlands to take Winterfell before Cersei and her Golden Company arrived so they wouldn’t be spread so thin fighting both sides of The Wall. 

“Have you heard any word of Rickon Stark?” Daenerys asked, to Jon’s surprise. 

Tyene shrugged noncommittally. “We haven’t got word he’s not still alive. So I suppose that’s a good thing.” Jon nodded, not really satisfied with that answer but knowing they wouldn’t get anything better at the moment. 

“Is Ramsay waiting to march on The Wall when Cersei arrives?” he asked.

“That’s what we think,” Tormund told him. “We’ve captured a few scouts. Sent out a few of our own. This isn’t going to be a pretty fight.” 

Tyene gestured in agreement. “A divided North. It’s the last thing we need.” Jon looked to Daenerys and they both sighed. Yes, it wouldn’t be a pretty fight. But they still had to fight it.

 

Sometime during the feast, Jon was finally able to get it out of Sansa why she had left the Riverlands and where Arya and Bran were. “I need to do it Jon,” she was saying quietly while he and Daenerys and Tyene listened intently. “No one else should get to take Ramsay Bolton’s life but me. Not after all he did to me.”

“It won’t be safe for you here once we’re in the middle of the fighting,” Jon argued. And Sansa had always been so innocent. He didn’t like the idea of her suddenly bloodthirsty. “You can’t even wield a sword.”

Tyene shook her head silently, as if not agreeing with Jon wanting to send Sansa back to Riverrun. He looked to Dany for support but she shrugged, also taking Sansa’s side. “I think she’s right,” she told him quietly. “I can relate to what she’s been through and if she needs this then…you should let her stay. She’s a grown woman who should be able to make her own decisions.” Sansa gave Daenerys a grateful smile and Jon wished he didn’t feel so ganged up on. But from what he had heard of Ramsay from Yara Greyjoy, he supposed whatever slow horrible death Sansa had planned for him in her head, it would be completely justified. 

Once he finally gave his consent to her being able to end Ramsay herself, Sansa told them how she had left her two younger siblings in the Riverlands with their great uncle Brynden. It was safer for Bran there as no bitter northerners would be able to easily capture him, like they had Rickon. And with Arya by his side, he was incredibly well protected. Jon only hoped they could end the fighting in the North soon so he could send for them both and be reunited with the rest of his family. 

 

A little later on in the evening, Dany left to go have a bath. Jon wanted to join her but couldn’t escape without it looking obvious. He stayed and shot the shit with Tormund, explaining to him who this  _ Jaime Land-sitter _ was who was talking to the lady of Tormund’s eye, Brienne of Tarth. 

“Fucking pretty boys,” Tormund grumbled and Jon smiled, as did Tyene but she just shook her head and ignored him.

“So, you and queen Daenerys?” she asked without hesitation. At this, Sansa, Davos, Gendry, and Sandor Clegane, who had come to sit with them, all perked up and Tormund gave him a knowing smirk.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jon murmured into his horn of ale. Luckily before they could question him further the table playing  _ Once on a harvest moon _ broke into uproarious laughter, distracting everyone. 

“What in seven hells are they doing?” Tyene asked.

“Drinking game Lord Tyrion invented,” Jon informed them. “Actually, you’d probably like it,” he added, hoping to distract anyone from questioning him further about the queen.

“Why don’t you come play with us?” Tyene got to her feet, pulling Sansa along with her. 

“I’m too exhausted for drinking games tonight,” Jon said with a fake yawn that quickly turned to a real one. “I’ll see you all in the morning.”

But as Jon made his way upstairs, suddenly thinking he actually didn’t know which room was his, or Daenerys’s for that matter, someone called his name. Turning around he saw a stern looking Jaime Lannister coming toward him, mouth pressed thin, brow furrowed. 

“Jaime,” Jon greeted, confused as to why he would want to speak with him.

“Your sword,” Jaime began without preamble, nodding to Longclaw, fastened to Jon’s hip. “It once belonged to House Mormont?” he questioned and Jon nodded slowly, wondering where this was going. Jaime sighed. “Ser Jorah told me you offered the sword back to him even though Commander Mormont gave it to you. Why?” 

Jon shrugged. “It didn’t feel right for me to have it. But Jorah insisted.” Jaime blinked for a moment then nodded, seeming to decide on something, and began unbuckling his sword belt. 

“This is one of two swords that were reforged from Ned Stark’s  _ Ice _ . This was Joffrey’s, then Tommen’s. It got passed to me when they died. The other sword, the one that was originally intended for me, I gave to Lady Brienne when she left to find your sister and get her somewhere safe. I’ve been meaning to give this one back to you, though after speaking to Jorah, I wasn’t sure how it would be received.” Jaime placed the sword and scabbard in Jon’s hands, Jon not knowing at all what to say except, “What’s it called?”

Jaime smirked and shook his head. “Joffrey called it  _ Widow’s Wail _ .” At this Jon laughed aloud, passing the sword back.

“I can’t carry around a sword called  _ Widow’s Wail _ . Longclaw’s a better fit.” He nudged the pommel with his hand. “Besides,  _ Ice _ never belonged to me. I’m not a Stark.” Jaime’s eyes widened at his words but whatever thought flitted through his mind, it quickly passed and he nodded. Jon gave Jaime a final awkward smile and turned to find his sleeping quarters. But before he could get much further, Jaime called to him again.

“I suppose the second best thing to giving you the sword would be swearing you mine,” Jaime offered. Jon slowly turned on the spot, mouth open. “I gave Brienne  _ Oathkeeper _ so she could protect Sansa. Perhaps I’m meant to protect you, since I have this one. Or at least, I could protect your children.”

“I don’t have--”

“You and the queen aren’t fooling anyone, you know,” Jaime cut him off. “If she’s not already, it will only be a matter of time.”

“She says she can’t have children,” was all Jon could say in response.

“Do you honestly believe that?” Jaime asked pointedly.

“No.” Jaime nodded. “People won’t like that, will they?” Jon added. “Because I’m a bastard.”

“You don’t have to be,” Jaime turned to leave.

“Don’t have to be what?” Jon asked.

“A bastard.” 

 

Knowing he wouldn’t have any luck finding his room on his own, Jon finally asked Tormund to show him the way. “Let’s see,” Tormund mused as they passed through a hallway. “This one’s it. Had them put all your things in here when you arrived.” Jon nodded gratefully but furrowed his brow when Tormund walked off laughing to himself.

“This really is my room, right?” Jon called back.

“Everything you need is in there,” Tormund told him without turning around.

Jon hesitantly opened the door and was greeted by the sight of Daenerys half asleep soaking in a metal tub. Knowing Tormund had done this on purpose, Jon shook his head and shut the door behind him. 

“Thought you’d never come up,” Daenerys mumbled without turning around. “Was worried the water would grow cold before you could join me.” 

Stripping off all his clothes, Jon noticed sure enough, all his belongings along with Daenerys’s were scattered throughout the room and Ghost lay between the tub and the fireplace, looking as if even the dead could not wake him.

“He follow you up?” Jon asked as Dany leaned forward so he could slip into the tub behind her. 

“Was waiting outside the door when I got here actually. Clever boy,” she commented fondly. Jon smiled and wrapped his arms and legs around her. 

“We’re not being very careful about this, you know,” he told her quietly, his lips grazing the skin behind her ear. He wasn’t sure if they should be careful or not but guessed she was the one to have told the stewards to put both their belongings in the same chamber. Everyone around them seemed to know or guess at their relationship.

“I know…” she trailed off and leaned back to wrap an arm around his head, pulling him to her. “...and I don’t care.” The kissed sweetly for a while but both of them were too grateful for their first real bath in a month and a half to push things any further, completely satisfied merely to sit naked together, wet soapy skin gliding under their fingers as they made each other clean.

That night, Jon dreamed again for the first time since Dragonstone. Of Daenerys stepping into a great fire and coming out with a baby dragon in her arms that was not a dragon. Of blue winter roses, of The Wall. Of a young girl with long dark hair that he at first thought was Arya, but when she turned around, she had dark lilac eyes...

 

A week after their arrival at Eastwatch, the armies were organized and the backup plans were set. 

“Without the Dothraki and forces from Greywater Watch and the Westerlands here yet, we have to plan to fight without them,” Jon was saying at one of the war council meetings. Tormund nodded. “We’ll be spread pretty thin if Cersei lands before Ramsay attacks but with The Wall between us and Cersei, hopefully it will buy us some time.”

“Can’t we just use these dragons you’ve brought?” Lord Royce from the Vale insisted. “Why are we wasting time and risking good fighting men when the beasts can just take them all out for us?” There was a murmur of agreement from around the room and Jon gritted his teeth.

“There are many problems with that plan the first and foremost being we know they have weapons designed to harm the dragons and while those weapons are functioning, it would be a great risk,” he informed Royce. “The dragons only follow the queen’s commands and if her mount were to get hit, it puts her in harm’s way as well.”

“So we need to destroy these weapons is what you’re saying,” Tormund pitched in. Daenerys raised her eyebrows at Jon as if asking for his permission. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew she wanted to be in the thick of things and involved in the battle. It was one of the reasons Gendry was so hard at work now in the forge, unbeknownst to her. Even still, he hated the idea of her being on the front lines.

“I suppose…” he began but Daenerys spoke before he could finish.

“If we have men somehow go in and disable the scorpion weapons the night before or during the battle, I’d feel more comfortable. At the same time however, burning thousands of northmen alive isn’t exactly the best way to turn them into allies once we kill Bolton.”

“The Umbers gave our brother over to Ramsay, they can hang,” Sansa huffed defiantly and Daenerys gave her a pitying look. 

“We’ve got the numbers to defeat Bolton even if the Dothraki don’t reach us in time,” Edmure Tully began. “The main concern is Cersei. You told us she plans to land north of The Wall,” he nodded to Jaime, “but whether she does or whether she doesn’t, it’s still a problem for us. If she does, the Others could reach them before we do and it could bolster their numbers. If she doesn’t and instead lands somewhere south of here, she bolsters Ramsay’s numbers.” 

“Any news from our scouts of the Greyjoy ships?” Jon asked Grey Worm as a few of the Unsullied had been patrolling the Shivering Sea in some of their smaller ships.

“No word yet,” the Unsullied Commander informed them.

“If she went around Skagos, it would explain why we haven’t seen them,” Jaime suggested.  

“Let’s hope that’s true,” Sansa said. “We need to be focused on Ramsay. If Cersei does go north it gives us that much extra time. And if they meet the Others, well, it just means they won’t be able to use those scorpions and we can safely rain fire down on them.”

Jon hated the thought of thirty thousand men being turned, just like he had seen happen at Hardhome. So many lives, snuffed out in an instant. Sansa had a point, Daenerys’s dragons would have an easier time killing the dead than the living. But the Golden Company were only sellswords, paid to fight for Cersei, not fighting because they really believed in her. If only there were a way to get word to them before they laid anchor in the most dangerous place in the world. 

 

After their meeting, a steward came for Jon to take him to the forges and he prayed Gendry had finished the armor he had tasked him with making for Daenerys. 

“Lord Commander,” Gendry greeted pleasantly when Jon entered. Gendry set down the sword he had been hammering out and removed his apron, wiping his hands clean best he could on a nearby rag. “Missandei helped me with the measurements.” He walked Jon over to a sheet outlined in the shape of a person. “And Samwell helped me with the design. It’s as close as I could get from the descriptions we found of Visenya Targaryen’s battle armor.” He lifted the sheet and Jon couldn’t help his gasp of surprise at the beauty of it. Davos had told him Gendry was one of the finest smith’s he’d ever come across, despite him being so young. But he hadn’t known Gendry was  _ this _ good. 

The breastplate was intricately styled with a crisscross pattern and dead center was the Targaryen House sigil, the three headed dragon, the dragons’ eyes small bits of dragonglass, giving the armor a tiny bit of color. The shoulders in four different plated sections so Daenerys would be able to move her arms, but they weren’t without style also, having ridges along each that resembled the ridges and spikes of the dragon’s backs. But more important than being beautiful, the armor covered all the vital bits. If a well placed arrow were to hit neck, chest or belly, it would be easily deflected by Gendry’s handiwork.

Later that evening after supper, Jon brought Daenerys out to the forge so Gendry could present it to her himself. Upon unveiling it, Daenerys’s eyes immediately watered, making Gendry’s cheeks pink. “It’s just armor, your grace,” Gendry mumbled sheepishly at her reaction. Dany rolled her eyes then dabbed the tears away and Jon recalled his list again.

“It’s very  _ beautiful _ armor, Gendry,” she emphasized. “I don’t know how I could ever thank you.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek then proceeded to remove her coat so they could fit it to her in case Gendry needed to make any last minute adjustments. Jon let her wear his gambeson underneath for fitting though it swallowed up her small frame easily. “I don’t think I’ve ever worn more layers in my entire life,” Daenerys quipped as Gendry and Jon buckled her in. 

Once each buckle had been tightened, the men stood back to admire the queen in her new armor. “How do I look?” Daenerys asked smiling and panting.

“Like you can’t breathe,” Jon smirked. 

“I  _ can’t _ breathe,” Daenerys huffed and Gendry immediately began undoing the leather straps on the sides. 

“But the metal bits, it’s fairly comfortable?” he asked. “Feel like you can move? Making these straps a little longer is no trouble.”

“Yes, it’s moveable. I feel silly wearing all this but I can move in it.”

“It’s meant to keep you safe,” Jon reminded her with an intense stare which she could only return with a wordless nod.

 

Daenerys retired to their chambers not long after that with an uncharacteristic and unqueenly yawn but Jon didn’t join her immediately. He needed some kind of validation...or if it was nothing, reassurance to put his odd thoughts to rest. There were several people he knew he  _ could _ talk to about this. Tormund, Davos, Gilly, Jaime, possibly Sam, Jorah, Missandei. Definitely not Tyrion or Varys. Sansa most likely wasn’t a good idea either, for the moment at least. In the end, he settled for Davos who he always knew to have his best interests at heart. Once he made him swear not to tell a soul on threat of being thrown from the top of The Wall which Davos just chuckled at, Jon told him everything. But though the knight wanted to help he could only shrug and give him just a  _ maybe _ . Jon was forced to go to Gilly next who proved infinitely more helpful. Along with what he had told her she gave him a list of possible things to look for and told him she would be there if he needed anything. Her offer of potential help in the future made him feel much better about the whole thing and he retreated to his and Dany’s room a little more relieved.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having Gendry make armor for me?” Daenerys asked him as he undressed and slipped under the covers behind her. 

“It was meant to be a surprise. Were you surprised?” 

She smirked. “Of course I was surprised.” As her head hit the pillow she yawned and Jon shook his head. He leaned in to give her a chaste goodnight kiss, knowing she should get her rest but as soon as their lips touched, her arms were around him, holding him to her and her lips demanding. 

“I thought you were tired,” Jon laughed but as Daenerys bit her lip in that adorable yet completely alluring and arousing way, he knew it would be a while before either of them would be able to get any sleep. They shifted and he settled between her legs, kissing her deeply and grinding his quickly hardening cock into the warm space between her thighs. 

He kissed lower, her chin, her neck, along her collarbone, her breasts. When he took one of her nipples in his mouth she let out a untamed groan usually only reserved for when his mouth was working her much lower. He looked up at her as he pulled on her with tongue and lips and saw her eyes were open only to slits, her irises rolled back under the lids. Jon smiled to himself, loving the noises she made and the way her fingers clutched at the sheet below her as if she’d fall off the edge of the world if she let go. 

But when he moved his lips south over her ribs, she let out a desperate, disappointed cry. “ _ Don’t stop _ ,” she begged, pulling him back to her breast. Jon furrowed his brow but kissed his way back up and around her breasts once more. She normally never demanded he pay this much attention to them. His stomach did a little flip at her high pitched cry when he took her between his lips again and sucked. She cradled his head, fingers tugging dark curls like they did when his face was between her legs. But though this desire of hers was strange and new, it still felt good she enjoyed him this much. He switched breasts and she inhaled sharply again, groaning and her hips swaying from side to side seemingly of their own accord. 

She writhed and moaned beneath him in a way she only ever did when she was close… He slipped a knee between her legs and her hips bucked against it and he could feel her wetness on his thigh. “ _ Oh...oh...ooooh! _ ” Dany dug her nails into his back and she arched off the bed and her whole body shuddered, panting hard. He pulled away from her breast and stared down at her in amazement, not knowing such a thing was possible. When Daenerys opened her eyes she laughed breathlessly, her fingers playing with his lips. “ _ Where did that come from? _ ” she whispered, adjusting her hips so he could slide into her.  _ Fuckkkkk _ , she had never been so wet for him before. 

He suppressed a strangled groan as he stared to move, smiling at her comment. “ _ I have no idea. I thought you were going to tell me _ .” She let out a laugh that turned to a cry of pleasure. But as he thrust in and out of her, reveling in the feel of the echoes of her climax on his cock, something tugged at the back of his thoughts. Was it just a pleasurable fluke? Or was it another odd moment to add to his ever growing list?

Afterward, when he pulled her close and knew she had fallen asleep in his arms, he began to recall everything he had spoken to Davos and Gilly about and everything he had witnessed. He wondered briefly how he would broach the topic with Daenerys but sleep took him before he could come up with a possible answer... 

 

She was beautiful. Long, wavy dark hair that was nearly bigger than she was. Dark eyes, nearly black but with a hint of violet when the sun hit them just right. Sprightly, mischievous smile that told him she was definitely up to something.  _ Come on, papa _ , she called in an ethereal little voice and she took off running through the castle grounds so Jon was left with no other choice but to chase after the little ball of energy.  _ Darling slow down _ , he called after her but she merely looked back to him over her shoulder and smiled and continued to run. He laughed as he chased her but his heart started thumping harder the closer she got to where he now knew she was leading him. Through the courtyard, under the archway, the door between the two stone direwolves...the door that only led down... _ Lyanna _ , he called after her upon reaching to door to the crypts. He couldn’t see her but could hear her laughter. Reluctantly, he climbed down the spiral staircase that led to the only tomb he knew she would be waiting at, that of her namesake, Lyanna Stark. But when he reached Lyanna’s stone statue, only Daenerys stood before it, rubbing a hand along the great curve of her belly. She looked so beautiful being with child.  _ Where’s our daughter? _ Jon asked, wrapping his arms around her.  _ She’ll be along soon _ , Dany reassured him.  _ Why did I have to come down here?  _ he asked her confused. She pulled away from him and indicated Lyanna’s statue, which only now did Jon realize was wearing a very stern looking silver crown that was studded with sapphires. And only when Daenerys reached up to take it down did Jon notice the small delicate rose pattern woven throughout.  _ Let me put it on you _ , Jon insisted, reaching for the crown, thinking it improper for Daenerys to have to crown herself. But she just laughed and pulled it beyond his reach.  _ It’s not mine _ . She placed a hand on his shoulder and encouraged him to kneel.  _ It’s always been yours _ , she told him as she carefully fitted it over his curls. He stood then and pulled her into him, kissing her passionately, his wife, his queen.  _ Where is our daughter? _ he asked again breaking away, remembering why he came down in the first place. Dany placed his hand over her belly.  _ She’ll be along soon my love. I promise…  _

 

When Jon jerked awake it was dark outside and the fire was still ablaze. Dany lay on her side near the edge of the bed, the furs thrown off of her and only the thin sheet to keep her warm. Jon touched her skin and it was warm, as it almost always was. She was her own fire and she was still fast asleep. Ghost, however, was not, sitting next to Dany’s side of the bed, chin resting on the mattress, nose against her abdomen, eyes ever watchful. At Jon’s stirring, Ghost raised his head just slightly to stare at him, the two sharing a look of mutual understanding before the wolf lay his head back down at the queen’s side. 

Jon could have added this to the list at the back of his mind but he knew it was no use as the list had grown too long to just be coincidence. “Don’t think she’ll believe us if we tell her,” Jon whispered and reached over to pat Ghost’s head. It was beyond stupid. It was beyond dangerous. But still, as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into him, enjoying her warmth and unable to keep his fingers away from the barely noticeable protrusion of her belly, a large part of him didn’t care. This is what was supposed to happen, wasn’t it?


	21. Before the Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Targaryen meets with the Bolton party to discuss terms of surrender. Brienne has a visitor. Sansa gossips with Tyrion. Daenerys and Jon discuss the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer warning: 1) This chapter is the longest yet. You will see why. 2) This chapter is EXTRA fluffy. It's right before they battle, so why not? 3) I tried something a little different with this chapter, writing from a couple different people's perspectives so we know what is going on at Eastwatch aside from between just Jon and Daenerys. I hope it worked. 4) DON'T READ the end of chapter notes until you finish reading the chapter. They're very spoilery.

The party was made up of Jon, Davos, Sansa, Tyrion, Varys, Jaime, Bronn, Jorah, Missandei, Qhono, Grey Worm, Edmure, Brienne, Tyene, Nymeria, Lady Mormont, Lady Hornwood, Lord Mazin, Ed Tollett, Cotter Pyke, Denys Mallister and Tormund. It was a much fiercer looking group than it represented. With Ramsay having the allegiance of Houses Glover, Umber, Karstark, and several smaller northern houses, they were fairly evenly matched. Add Cersei’s numbers to that and the fact that they still had not had word from the Dothraki, and Jon definitely felt the strain. If the battle began to tip in the favor of Bolton and Lannister, they would be forced to unleash the dragons, risk or no risk to the queen. 

He thought of Dany then, that morning lying in their bed. He had no idea how she could have been so unaware, the changes were now obvious to Jon as he had spent the last several weeks mapping out every inch of her body and getting very well acquainted with it. Her breasts were glorious, so round and full and the nipples enticingly a dark dusty rose, changed from their usual pale pink. Her skin was positively luminescent, cheeks now always containing a warm blush. And the most obvious, they had made love nearly every night (and most mornings) since departing King’s Landing and she hadn’t got her woman’s blood the entire time. When Jon finally confided in Missandei several days ago, the queen’s advisor said she had suspected the same but that when she mentioned it offhand to her, Daenerys had dismissed her missing cycle on  _ stress _ . 

When he was younger and Lady Catelyn had been pregnant with his siblings, Jon hadn’t had much interest in the process. Not that she ever shared the experience with him. While she would invite Robb and Sansa to feel her belly when the babies would move or kick, Catelyn never extended the offer to Jon. Gilly said it was still too soon to feel such things but when he was sure Daenerys was fast asleep, he always placed a hand over her belly anyway. Sometimes he would pray to the old gods. Other times he would simply trace the small swell with his fingers or place light kisses to it. He wanted to talk to it, maybe even sing to it, some of the lullabies he had heard Lady Catelyn and Old Nan sing. But he was too afraid to wake Daenerys and have her question what he was doing singing and talking to her belly when she was convinced she was barren. 

It was such a strange feeling. He couldn’t see this little being, couldn’t yet hold it or interact with it in anyway other than placing a hand over Dany’s belly. But in the short time since Jon had put all the pieces together and guessed at her condition, he had already fallen in love with their child. And that, in and of itself, was perhaps the most surprising thing of all. Jon had never wanted to be a father, had hated the idea of being the cause of another bastard being brought into the world. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about the life he wanted to live with Daenerys and their child after the great war was over and winter was ended. 

Missandei had been a great help. She made sure Daenerys got the proper nutrition she needed. But whenever she attempted to hint at the changes in the queen, Daenerys just seemed blissfully ignorant. She was unnaturally tired because she was acclimating to the northern climate. Her appetite had increased and changed dramatically because she was more active (of course she blamed Jon and their bedroom habits). Her clothes were fitting tighter because of her eating. She was more emotional because of the anxiety the war was causing her. Daenerys had an excuse for everything. Jon wondered if she would be in denial up until the moment she held their child in her arms. He prayed they would get to that moment.

Once or twice he had imagined how he would tell her. But that in and of itself seemed like the definition of absurdity. A man telling a woman she was carrying his baby.  _ Darling please don’t be angry with me but I have some news for you. You’re with child. _ It was laughable. But until she was further along and the evidence irrefutable, Jon didn’t think there was anything he could say to convince her of it now. So he, Davos, Missandei, Gilly, and Ghost all watched over her carefully but in a way that wouldn’t let on anything was actually different. 

Now on the edge of the horizon, off in the distance, Ramsay and his men could be seen riding in for their meeting to discuss terms of surrender, though Jon was sure this was just a formality and to try to rile them up as Ramsay surely wouldn’t bend the knee to Dany no matter how intimidating they appeared. 

“You don’t have to be here,” Jon told Sansa quietly who sat a horse next to him. 

“Yes I do,” Sansa got out through gritted teeth, determined. Her knuckles were white on the reigns but her face remained stoic and calm. 

“Do you think he’ll care?” Tyrion asked riding up between Sansa and Jon, asking of their plan. 

“Nothing frightens Ramsay,” Sansa replied, eyes trained ahead of her. Tyrion nodded and slipped back to silence as the Bolton party approached.

Jon locked eyes with the man he assumed was Ramsay and immediately hated him. This  _ had _ to be the Bolton bastard, sloppily legitimized by a dead king who was himself a bastard, Jaime had proof of that. His smug smile, beady little eyes, the possessive way he switched his gaze to Sansa. Jon could have killed him.

“My beloved wife,” Ramsay began addressing only Sansa. “I’ve missed you terribly.” He turned back to Jon. “Thank you for returning Lady Bolton safely.”

“Lady  _ Stark _ is exactly where she belongs,” Jaime shot back. “Now, are we going to discuss--”

“Kingslayer,” Ramsay interrupted. “Your sister had wondered where you got to. She had half a mind to think you’d tucked tail and run off to the free cities.”

“’Fraid not,” Jaime replied smoothly. Ramsay just chuckled and nodded.

“All the same. There’s no need for this battle. Dismount and kneel before me. Surrender your armies from the Seven Kingdoms. Send the eunuchs and savages back to Essos. Proclaim Cersei the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and me the true lord of Winterfell and the King in the North.”

“King in the North?” Tyrion repeated, disbelieving. 

“Making allies with your sister does have its perks,” Ramsay quipped.

“Oh I’m sure Cersei has made you all kinds of promises,” Jon jumped in. “The promises the Lannisters made to the Tyrells - blown up with the Great Sept. The promises the Lannisters made with the Freys - only to abandon them and leave them open for someone to come and wipe out their entire house.”

“It’s true, the queen does what she needs to do to take what is hers. But Cersei and I are also leaders of mercy. I will accept your surrender on her behalf. All you have to do is kneel,” Ramsay reasoned. When Jon and the rest of their party remained silent, Ramsay continued on. “Tell me, bastard, will you let your little brother die because you’re too proud to surrender?”

“How do we know you have him?” Sansa asked. Ramsay smiled then nodded to SmallJon Umber who reached for something from a sack on his saddle. When he extracted the object he tossed it to the ground in front of Jon and Sansa.  _ Shaggy _ . Jon swallowed back the rage that welled up inside. But before he could think of any kind of reply, Ramsay spoke again.

“And where is that foreign whore you’ve been calling queen, bastard? These are her people fighting. Seems to me like she should be here,” he asked. 

“She’ll be along shortly,” Tyrion told Ramsay calmly with an insincere smile on his face.

“Going to ride in on those dragons of hers, hmm?” Ramsay correctly guessed, though judging by the hint of sarcasm in his voice, he didn’t for a moment believe the dragons actually existed. Jon and Tyrion said nothing. “Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and now Lord Commander of the Targaryen military forces. Very impressive. Of course since you have chosen not to kneel, when we do destroy you tomorrow, if you’re still alive following the battle, you will be beheaded for a deserter. Just like your traitor father.” 

At his words, Jon saw Sansa’s grip on her reigns tighten even more but she too kept a calm demeanor.

“I should like to ask you where my sister is,” Tyrion cut in. “You keep talking as if her forces are here to help you but it appears you’re all alone. I know it’s a hard pill to swallow. But abandoning people and going back on her word is a habit of Cersei’s.” Ramsay smiled as if in appreciation.

“He’s good,” Ramsay shook a finger at Tyrion. “He’s very good. For a dwarf.” Ramsay paused. “Your sister is right where she needs to be. And come tomorrow--”

But they didn’t get to hear the rest of Ramsay’s words as a thunderous screech filled the air. All the Bolton men immediately looked up and cowered on their horses, their mounts rearing and threatening to unseat them all. But Jon looked straight ahead and watched as Drogon flew over them, landing a few yards behind the Bolton party. Daenerys dismounted looking like the dragon queen she was, hair braided back but windswept and completely alluring, armor clinging to her figure, accentuating all the parts Jon loved about her. She walked through Bolton’s banners calmly, their horses parting and stomping away from her in fear. When she reached Jon, he held the horse next to him steady so she could climb up and sit facing Ramsay. 

“My apologies for my tardiness,” she stated as Drogon took to the open air briefly, only to land a few yards behind the Targaryen banners. Ramsay glared daggers at Daenerys but forced his face into a maniacal smile.

“No need for apologies. Seems you’ve arrived just in time.” Ramsay gripped his reigns tighter and pursed his lips, visibly irritated by Daenerys’s show of riding in on Drogon but trying hard not to let it show.

“So, Lord Bolton, am I to understand that you will not kneel?” Dany asked. Ramsay’s smile widened. “Aside from a few houses here in the North and the Westerlands, every Kingdom in the Seven Kingdoms has proclaimed me their queen. Cersei has no allies elsewhere. She has not the love of the people. And of course…” Daenerys looked back to Drogon who sat watching the Bolton party intently. “She has no dragons.”

“Oh, we’ve got something special for you big boy,” Ramsay shook a finger in Drogon’s direction and the dragon screeched, but not in the friendly way he had when Jon pulled the spear from his shoulder all those weeks ago. “My hounds have never tried dragon meat,” Ramsay provoked further. Jon saw Daenerys’s jaw clench out of the corner of his eye. But other than that, her expression did not betray her. He was proud. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled. Matter of fact, I might have a taste myself. Dragon pot pie.” He laughed at his own joke though none of his men joined him, their eyes still trained to Drogon. “Perhaps queen Cersei will--”

“You’re going to die tomorrow Lord Bolton,” Sansa cut in, too frustrated with Ramsay’s load of horseshit to stand it any longer. Jon and Dany looked to her. “Sleep well,” she advised. With that, Sansa steered her mount around and road off back toward Eastwatch.

“She’s a fine woman, your sister,” Ramsay told Jon. “I look forward to having her back in my be--”

“If that’s all, Lord Bolton,” Daenerys spat. “I suppose we shall see you on the battlefield tomorrow.” Ramsay narrowed his eyes at her but inclined his head in a little bow. With that, the Targaryen party turned and followed Sansa, Drogon taking to the skies and flying over them back to The Wall.

 

That evening, dinner was an interesting affair. Some of the free folk and Dornish had taken to drinking heavily and were singing just about every song they knew at the tops of their voices and very badly. The Unsullied and the Night’s Watchmen ate silently and retreated to their barracks rather early. Tyrion, Jaime, Davos, and Edmure poured over the plans for the following morning, making sure they hadn’t missed anything. Missandei and Grey Worm left within minutes of each other and Jon could only guess why. Tyene and Bronn as well headed from the great hall in the same general direction though their chambers were on opposite ends of the castle. When Tormund had drunkenly stumbled over to the table Brienne sat at, she quickly excused herself with a rather perturbed look on her face. When about half the great hall had emptied, Jon and Daenerys decided to retreat to their room as well, wanting to get a goodnight’s sleep before all seven hells broke loose in the morning. 

But though as the hour became later, the castle grew quieter, there was still much activity happening all around, behind closed doors… 

 

**_Brienne_ **

It was late. It was the eve before the Battle for the North. Brienne was anxious. She was tired. She needed her rest. But before Brienne could begin removing her armor for the night, someone rapped on her door. Sighing with irritation, thinking it Pod come to check on her, Brienne crossed the room and pulled the door open. However, instead of being greeted by Pod’s much too eager face, she was pleasantly flustered to see Jaime Lannister framing her doorway, holding up a wineskin as if in surrender. 

“Care to join me? Or, these are you chambers. Can I join you and I’ll share?” Brienne didn’t know what to say so instead she just nodded sternly and pushed the door open further, closing it but leaving it unbolted behind him. Having Jaime in such close, intimate quarters was a dizzying experience. She could smell him, the rosy lightness of the soap clinging to his skin, the metallicness and leather of his clothing and gilded right hand, the Arbor Gold on his lips…It was enough to make her mouth water but she mustn’t think of such things. They were going into battle tomorrow. She couldn’t let her longstanding attraction of him get in the way of her duty. To Sansa. To the queen. To the realm. 

“Ever been in a battle, Brienne?” he asked, awkwardly taking a seat on the floor by the fire. 

“I killed Stannis when his forces were defeated by Bolton last year. Other than that, no.” He passed her the wineskin as she sat too and she took it gratefully, hoping the wine would calm her nerves. 

“I used to love it,” Jaime reminisced and she knew the only reason he probably didn’t like the thought anymore was because of his missing sword hand. Then again, if Jaime hadn’t lost his hand, she wondered if he would even be here, or if in losing it, he had gained a sense of self worth again. 

“I don’t enjoy the prospect of it. But I’m ready to defend Lady Sansa when and if the time comes. If the Lannisters and Golden Company come through--”

“No strategy talk,” Jaime waved his good hand in front of him. “None of that.” She nodded and stayed silent, fingers playing with the cap of the wineskin. He gestured wordlessly for it and she passed it back, unable to help herself watch as his lips caressed the opening. She suddenly wondered if Jaime was still in love with Cersei despite all she had done in the last few years. She supposed perhaps not in the way he once had. But she was his family. Those old feelings wouldn’t just stop. More he was probably just upset and felt betrayed by her. It was all so complicated and not a topic Brienne liked to dwell on. 

“I have to admit, I didn’t come here just to share my wine with you Brienne,” Jaime confessed and immediately her pulse quickened, blood coursing through her body in an unfamiliar and very uncomfortable way. Jaime snuck a look at the bed behind which she was sat.  _ No! _ NO. No. No… She couldn’t possibly…

“Don’t worry, I’m not asking for  _ that,”  _ Jaime reassured and again, his words caused her body to react instantly, this time her heart dropping. But she couldn't be disappointed. It was ridiculous. “I just didn’t want to be alone tonight,” he explained.

“Aren’t you bunking with your brother?” Brienne pointed out. 

“I wanted to not be alone…with you.”

“Why?” Brienne asked skeptically. She knew he didn’t love her. Just as Renly hadn’t loved her. Just as no man would ever love her because of her height and her looks and her awkwardness. 

“I...trust you,” Jaime reasoned. “I’ve always trusted you. And I respect you. And I...admire you.” Brienne couldn’t recall exactly in that moment but those may have been the nicest words any man had ever spoken to her. Not as if she lived her life on the opinions of men. She couldn’t give two shits what men thought of her. But the way Jaime spoke, the genuineness in his voice, warmed her in a way she wished it didn’t. 

The most she could give him in response to his words was a shy smile which he returned enthusiastically. “You’re more beautiful than most people acknowledge, you know,” he observed making her skin erupt in a light sheen of sweat and a blush creep up into her pale cheeks. “Out of the armor…and even in the armor.” There was no way she could respond to him without her voice quivering or cracking so she remained silent. “I think that... _ Tormund _ fellow has taken more than a liking to you,” Jaime hinted with a raised eyebrow to which Brienne was finally able to breathe out some of her anxiety with a laugh.

“He’s…” But as to what Tormund was, Brienne really couldn’t say. She knew for some inexplicable reason he fancied her but he was about the most unappealing man she had ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. Wildling with his horrible ginger hair and beard…

“He wants to fuck you,” Jaime said bluntly and Brienne’s eyes widened and her mouth popped open slightly. “But at least from what I’ve heard of the others here at Eastwatch, he wants you to enjoy yourself when he--”

“I would never!” Brienne got out in a strangled voice, making Jaime laugh. How could he speak as if it were some sort of inevitability she would allow that beast into her bed? 

“Never with him or never in general?” Jaime asked for clarification, his expression more serious. Brienne huffed, this topic making her very uncomfortable. She almost never allowed herself to think of _...that.  _ She would most likely never marry and she had accepted that and made her peace with it. And since she would never marry, she reasoned she would never lie with a man. It wouldn’t be proper. But at the same time, Brienne wondered to herself that if Jaime offered, would she accept? All her careful and hard and fast rules, would she just forget about all that, forget about her morals to share her bed for a night with someone with a pretty face? Though, even as she thought it, she had to recognize Jaime was more than just a pretty face. He most certainly was a friend, that was easy enough to admit. He was an ally and, at times, like now, a confidant. But never before had Brienne entertained the thought of  _ lover. _ Still, he wasn’t asking. He had specifically said he hadn’t come here for her virtue so she should just leave the thought alone. 

“There’s no time for such things,” Brienne told him offhandedly. “We have a war to fight, then another with the dead. A winter to get through--”

“Do you ever stop and think about your own happiness Brienne?” Jaime asked her pointedly.

“Why?” It was a genuine question. 

“I think about your happiness,” he told her. He took another long pull on the wineskin. “Since we arrived at Eastwatch I’ve thought about it quite a lot actually.” All Brienne could do was nod, letting her gaze slide to the fireplace so she wouldn’t have to see the look in his eyes. It was an expression she couldn’t quite place but one that both terrified and excited her. Sadness, admiration…something darker. 

Without meaning to, but the late hour starting to take its toll on her, Brienne covered her mouth with her hand as she yawned. “It’s very late, Ser Jaime,” she informed him, getting to her feet but still avoiding his gaze. 

“Brienne… I don’t want to leave.” She couldn’t help it, she turned at his words. It was as if his eyes were begging her to let him stay. But how could he stay? How could she let him? “I’m not trying to seduce you, I swear.”  _ Maybe you should _ , she stupidly thought. “But…”  _ But…?  _ “But if it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable, would it be alright if I lie with you tonight? Just so I might get a peaceful night’s rest?” Lie with her? Sleep with her?  _ No, _ she thought. Sleep  _ beside _ her. But even that, the thought of Jaime curled up next to her all night…

“I…that would be fine,” her mouth spoke before her mind could catch up to her words.  _ Yes? _ She gave him permission to lie with her? What in seven hells was she thinking? She glanced at the bed then down at her armor. Yes, he had seen her naked once before but the act of undressing in front of him…

“I can turn and give you your privacy while you change,” he offered as if reading her thoughts. She sighed with relief. As quickly as she could, Brienne removed her all her layers and slipped a thick woollen tunic and breeches on to sleep in. Even in sleep, Brienne never dressed much like a lady. Once she was finished and slid under her covers Jaime removed his gilded hand and slid in beside her. 

It was too much. Having him so close, it was so overwhelming. The scent of him enveloped her and she ridiculously thought it was something strong enough to where it would linger on her sheets for days to come...which only agitated her more. And his heat. They weren’t touching but even as she turned on her side away from him, trying to forget he was even there, she could  _ feel _ his presence. It was unignorable. And it was pleasant in a way that she really needed it to not be.   

“Brienne?” Jaime asked. 

“Hmm?” She couldn't even trust herself to open her mouth at this point, heart hammering into her throat. 

“Would it be too much to ask if I could put my arm around you?” Arm around her?  _ Arm around her? _ Brienne couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. She could barely breathe. Before any kind of thought for response to his question came to her, his arm carefully slid across her side and gently gripped her waist. “Is this alright?” he asked quietly, his face very close to her neck. Wildly she wondered what it would feel like for him to kiss her there.

Her head nodded without her giving it permission to. With that, Jaime settled into her side, breathing deeply, each exhale tickling her skin in a frustratingly lovely way. Her heart still beat rapidly, her breathing erratic. That must have been why she started to slip under so quickly, somewhere between sleeping and fainting, feeling the heaviness of her eyelids pressing down upon her, lulling her into a doze. Before she drifted off entirely, she realized the fingers of her left hand were entwined with someone else’s. It was a new and very comforting experience. 

 

**_Sansa_ **

It was well after supper and nearly the whole castle was asleep but Sansa was restless with the thought of the battle tomorrow. She made her way back to the great hall to hunt for some wine when she spotted Tyrion sitting and drinking by the fire. 

“Dear wife,” he crooned when he noticed her presence, making her feel just a little flustered that she wouldn’t be alone. 

“My Lord, I beg your pardon. I didn’t know anyone would be down here,” Sansa apologized. Tyrion waved her apology off and gestured to the chair in front of him by the fire. While she reluctantly took the seat he offered to her, he poured her the glass of wine she hadn’t asked him for but had come down here for. She smirked, sinking heavily into the chair and closing her eyes, savoring the ability to rest. 

“What brings you all the way down here so late, my lady?” Tyrion asked, though he had to have know the answer would be obvious. But Sansa didn’t speak right away. She took a sip of her wine and stared long into the fire contemplating something. 

“You really were my favorite husband Tyrion,” she said in a small voice, making him shift sheepishly and uncomfortably in his chair. 

“My lady, I’m sorry for all the things that have happened to you since our parting,” was all Tyrion could say in response. Yes, everyone was sorry for her. She was damaged, broken. And likely if she got the chance to end Ramsay tomorrow, it wouldn’t make her feel less so. 

“I wish we had enjoyed a real wedding night,” she let slip before she could think. But even as she recognized her own words with the look of horror on Tyrion’s face, she knew they were true. “You would have been much kinder to me than Ramsay. It would have been nice for it to be with someone... _ kind.” _ Her voice broke on the last word and she hated how she thought of Ramsay in that moment, of how he would hit her during, the brutal way he would take her, feverishly ripping at her clothing, pushing her into the bed… 

_ Stop! _ she told herself. She shouldn’t think of such things. He was gone. Soon he would be dead. 

“You wouldn’t have wanted me in your bed, my lady,” Tyrion responded finally. “I may have had several women in my time but I don’t think I could describe myself as a skilled lover,” he muttered into his wine cup with a derisive chuckle. “My squire was apparently a better lover than I think I’ll ever be.” He laughed again, more genuinely this time and drank deeply from his wine cup, draining it then moving to fill it back up again. 

“What?” Sansa asked looking away from the fire as if hearing Tyrion’s words for the first time. 

Tyrion gave her a secretive smile. “Podrick. Apparently he’s so good the whores in King’s Landing won’t even take his money.” Sansa spit out a bit of her wine involuntarily and choked laughing. Podrick. Podrick Payne who was now currently Brienne’s squire. He had such a boyish face she couldn’t even picture him lying with a woman. 

“You laugh. I’m serious.” Sansa shuddered, suddenly her head being flooded with images of Pod that she hadn’t given permission to. Pod’s eyes. His lips.  _ What would it be like to kiss Podrick? _ she stupidly wondered then forced herself to take a large gulp of wine to try to chase the thoughts away. When she met Tyrion’s drunken gaze and saw he was watching her intently, a mirthful glint to his eyes, Sansa shook her head, suddenly glad she had come down to the great hall and found Tyrion. Having such silly talk with him made her feel better. “Not as if it’s not what everyone’s up to upstairs anyway.”

“Up to what?” Sansa asked. Tyrion smiled that secret smile again, as if he were in on some great joke and she wasn’t. 

“Didn’t you wonder why everyone left supper in pairs?” Tyrion smirked.

“What?” Sansa said again incredulously.

“Tyene Sand and Bronn, for one,” Tyrion began and Sansa laughed. Tyene had told her earlier that day of her plans to get Bronn in bed with her. Not that Sansa thought it would have been any great feat ast Bronn clearly wanted her. She couldn’t at all see what Tyene wanted with that dirty old sellsword. But still, she found it amusing.

“Alright, who else?” She genuinely hadn’t noticed anyone leave dinner in pairs and now she was curious. She had always enjoyed gossiping with Tyrion back in King’s Landing. 

“Well, Missandei and Grey Worm of course, but they’ve been toeing the line for ages so it’s a bit of a relief they’ve dropped the pretense.”

“Wait,” Sansa began. “Grey Worm, isn’t he…” How in the world did  _ that _ work.

Tyrion smiled again, but this time it was his shy, awkward one. “My lady, there are plenty of activities to do in a bed that don’t involve a cock.”

“Tyrion!” Sansa choked again, laughing and trying not to think about Grey Worm and Missandei. In the weeks she had been up here at Eastwatch the Unsullied commander had always been polite to her and though she hadn’t known Missandei long, she liked her immensely. But for some reason those  _ other activities _ Tyrion hinted at seemed more perverted than regular sex and she wasn’t sure she would be able to look either of them in the eye after this.

“Well, I’m just saying…”

“Okay. Who else?” Sansa asked mischievously. At her question an obnoxiously wide grin spread across Tyrion’s face. “What?” she asked. “Who?” It had to be someone she knew and was close with for him to be smiling like that.

“Put it this way, Jaime left headed for Lady Brienne’s chambers and I don’t think he went with any intention of returning for the night.” Sansa felt her jaw drop.  _ Brienne! _ She couldn’t help herself from giggling into her winecup. After the battle she would have to ask Brienne what all happened with Jaime. She knew her sworn sword was quite fond of the elder Lannister brother, saying on several occasions how he always treated her honorably and had given her his Valyrian steel sword. And of course, Sansa hadn’t not noticed the way the two looked upon each other when they travelled to Riverrun to negotiate with her uncle Brynden. 

“They actually make a kind of handsome couple, don’t you think?” Tyrion mused. Sansa considered it a moment. Brienne never dressed like a lady but there was something about her eyes that was very pleasing and kind. 

“I suppose,” she chuckled softly. “Keep going.”

Tyrion shook his head and Sansa knew he loved the gossip just as much as she did. It was addicting but more importantly, on a night like tonight, a wonderful distraction. “Well, Samwell and Gilly have been together for several years despite his being a brother of the Night’s Watch and training at the Citadel.”

“I don’t think it really matters, the Night’s Watch vows anymore,” Sansa said thoughtfully, thinking about what all Ed had told her happened to Jon when she reached Castle Black. Tyrion nodded in agreement.

“So Samwell and Gilly. Fairly easy to guess what they’re up to tonight. Hmm, let’s see. I’m fairly certain Nymeria Sand was successful in getting Qhono to follow her up to her chambers.”

“They don’t even speak the same language!” Sansa exclaimed gleefully. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Tyrion waved his hand dismissively. He was silent for a moment then his face split into a smirk so devious, Sansa couldn’t ignore. 

“Who else?”

Tyrion’s lips twitched. “Well, let us not forget your bastard brother and the queen.” Sansa smiled at the thought. Daenerys had been so kind to their since the moment her skiff landed at Eastwatch. In the mornings she frequently invited Sansa to break her fast with her and Missandei and occasionally Gilly would join them as well. Once Daenerys had even offered to braid Sansa’s hair while they sipped their tea and Missandei went over a list of Northern houses, helping the queen to remember each one, their castles and holdfasts and their locations. She was glad the queen and her brother had found happiness, even if they could never outwardly display their affections because of Jon’s birth.

“According to my brother Jaime, there may be a good chance you’ll become an aunt soon…” Tyrion trailed off.  _ Aunt?  _ Aunt! At her reaction, Tyrion went on to explain. “The queen doesn’t know.”  _ The queen doesn’t know? But wouldn’t she…? _ “She’s always believed she can’t have children. Leave it to your brother to crush that theory.”

“Wait so…how does Jaime know and the queen doesn’t?”

“He’s overheard a few things from people closest to her,” Tyrion told her cryptically. Sansa furrowed her brow and sat, deep in thought. The whole time growing up, she knew Jon never wanted children because he was a bastard. She wondered how he felt about it now that he would have a child with the queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Life and it’s little ironies. Tyrion gave his head a little shake and changed topic.

“So what about you, my lady? Your like to become a widow tomorrow. You can certainly have your pick of men to warm your bed.”

“Tyrion!” Sansa exclaimed, scandalized. “I’m not going to…I couldn’t…do  _ that _ . _ ” _ But at her words, Tyrion just laughed. 

“What about Podrick?” he suggested cheerfully, making Sansa choke on her wine. “You’re both of an age together. And you said you would have liked to experience it with someone kind.”

“ _ I  _ think you’ve had a bit too much wine, Lord Tyrion,” Sansa scoffed. 

“Do you think him handsome?” Tyrion pressed and Sansa’s cheeks inexplicably flushed. “Because I know he thinks you very beautiful, as most men do, I’m sure.”

“Has he told you this?” Sansa couldn't stop herself from asking.

“You do like him, don’t you,” he teased.

“I have  _ never _ thought of him in that way!” she laughed. Well, she hadn’t. Up until tonight when Tyrion offhandedly mentioned he was a skilled lover.   

“If I find him, I’ll send him up to your chambers,” he kept on, the rosiness of his cheeks giving away just how much wine he had drunk that evening. Sansa rolled her eyes.

“And who are you bedding then, on the eve of the battle?”

“I’m done with all that, I’m afraid,” he lamented, staring off into the fire. And somehow, as she watched him, Sansa knew their pleasant conversation was at an end. She wished she hadn’t asked him about his love life. It must have been terrible for him being a dwarf. Everyone always judging him on his appearance rather than his wits and humor and kindness. She liked Daenerys that much more in the moment because she had chosen Tyrion as her Hand. It was nice to know someone appreciated him for who he was.

“It’s late my lord. I bid you sleep well before the battle tomorrow.” As she got up to leave, Tyrion turned back to her smirking. 

“I’ll send Pod up to your room,” he chuckled. 

“You’ll do no such thing!” she called as she left, smiling like an idiot. 

Sansa didn’t go straight to her room however. She meandered about the grounds for a bit, taking in the site of one of the dragons flying out over the sea, probably hunting. Sansa never thought she would see dragons in the flesh and yet there they were. Simply extraordinary. But the cold was seeping into her bones and as much of a northern woman as she was, she couldn’t take much more of it and finally decided to head back inside.

As Sansa rounded the corner to her chambers, she was greeted by Podrick standing at her door, waiting patiently, hands behind his back.  _ Tyrion! _ She closed her eyes a moment, inwardly cringing from the utmost embarrassment and praying for patience.  _ How could he send Pod here? _ He must have been much drunker than she originally thought which was saying something because she thought him to be quite drunk. What did Tyrion take her for? She couldn’t just invite some squire into her bed, she was the Lady of Winterfell!

“M’lady,” Pod greeted as she walked up, chamber key in hand. “Lord Tyrion said you wished to speak to me.” Sansa resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Is that all he told you?” she asked cautiously. She didn’t need Podrick going around telling people she had summoned him for sex. Because she hadn’t. She privately cursed Tyrion and reminded herself never to drink with him again. At her question, Pod furrowed his brow in a way Sansa never noticed before was quite endearing.  _ No! _ What was she doing? She couldn’t think of him in that way. 

“Yes, m’lady. Why, is something wrong?” The way he said  _ m’lady _ . She couldn’t, she  _ wasn’t _ considering this. She was in no way a maiden, Ramsay had seen to that. And those encounters had been horric enough. Even still, maiden or no, she couldn’t just… _ but Podrick would be kind, _ she thought.  _ No! _

“Pod,” she began but couldn’t find the words to send him away. She also couldn’t find the words to explain why Tyrion had really sent him there either, it was just too awkward. “Step inside a moment Pod,” was all she could think to say. It would buy her a moment or two at least while she gathered her wits and decided what she wanted to do with him.  _ Perhaps it  _ would _ be nice with someone kind _ … _ No!  _ she told herself again. He was a squire. A lady of a great house couldn’t take a squire into bed with her. Then again, the queen of the Seven Kingdoms had taken her bastard brother into her bed and they were apparently expecting a child. It was as if the entire world had been turned upside down. 

“So what did you wish to speak to me about, m’lady?” Pod prompted, hands still respectfully behind his back. But what did it all matter if they were going into battle tomorrow? One or both of them could be killed. And what were names and titles anyway? She had been promised to a king once and he had been awful. She had been married to a great lord of Casterly Rock and she hadn’t been able to stand the idea of seeing him naked, which thankfully she hadn’t. She had been married to another lord, a cruel, evil lord…and supposed she was still  _ technically _ married to him… If she were with Pod, it would be like betraying Ramsay. She would be rebelling against him. A potentially pleasurable act of  _ fuck you _ to Ramsay Bolton.

Sansa’s smile betrayed her. Without really meaning to, she had already made her decision and was quite giddy about it. But she couldn’t just demand it of Pod. She had to respect him and his boundaries as well. “Podrick, I want to ask you something.”

“Yes, m’lady?”

“Podrick…what I want to ask you…I want you to know it is not a demand. It is a request which you can deny if you so wish. You are under no obligation to do anything, is that understood?” Pod puzzled a moment, eyebrows raised in the most adorable way. Sansa had never come to truly appreciate how sweet Pod’s face was. Maybe not the face of a man. His freckles and boyish cheeks warring against the scruff of his chin. But he was pleasant to look upon. 

“I…yes, I understand m’lady.”

Sansa inhaled deeply, feeling a flush creep up her neck and color her cheeks as she composed the words in her head. Did women often ask men who were not their husbands into their beds? Was it very common? Men had mistresses all the time, but did women? “Pod,” Sansa began, trying to appear braver than she felt. “I’d like you…to…” Pod’s eyebrows raised in expectation. “I’d...Idlikeyouinmybed,” Sansa got out in a rush, barely understanding her words herself. 

Pod’s eyes widened, probably knowing exactly what she said but not quite believing it. “I’m sorry, m’lady?”

Sansa took in another deep, steadying breath. “I want you in my bed, Podrick,” she said once more, taking a step closer to him. “I want you to make love to me. Gently. Slowly…” Both of them were breathing embarrassingly loudly but Sansa didn’t care. She had already said it. The worst Pod could say would be  _ no _ . “Would you like to take me to bed, Podrick?”

She waited with baited breath for his answer.  _ Please don’t say  _ no, she thought. It was awkward enough to have to ask for it. “I…I’d like that very much, m’lady.”       

 

**_Jon_ **

It was late. They had just begun getting undressed when the same old argument came up. Both marched around the room in their under layers of clothes, huffing and grinding teeth and shooting infuriated looks at the other. Jon inhaled deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to hold himself together. He couldn’t say the wrong thing right now and yet she was being so infuriating. 

“I’m not just going to sit on the sidelines while you all ride off into slaughter!” Dany exclaimed. “I know about the weapons they built for the dragons, I’ve seen them first hand in case you don’t remember--”

“Aye, I do remember. I remember being out on the cliffs at Dragonstone when I thought you were returning only to find your dragon without his rider and a spear in his wing,” Jon recalled for her, hoping it would knock some sense into her. “I remember  _ you _ being carried in with a an arrow wound to the shoulder that could have very easily been a few inches lower.”

“I have armor now to prevent such things,” she told him stubbornly. 

“Dany, we don’t even know if Cersei is really here. It’s just Ramsay’s word. Cersei could be a thousand miles away waiting for us all to kill each other so she can come back and finish off whoever is left. So if there’s no need for you to be there…”

“Jon, you can’t expect me to stay behind--”

“Dany, that’s not what I’m saying,  _ exactly. _ But if Cersei isn’t there, you shouldn’t be either. We can handle Ramsay without you. I mean…I just…I don’t want you to put yourself in harm’s way unnecessarily and get yourself into a situation that could cost you the future. Your future.  _ Our _ future,” Jon emphasized, walking up behind her and absentmindedly and stupidly reaching around her belly. But Daenerys pulled away from him, wounded by his words and the meaning behind his gesture.

“Jon I cannot give you children!” Dany hissed, turning away from him, hurt and appalled.

_ “I know you can’t give me children,”  _ Jon exclaimed, letting out a frustrated breath and sitting on the edge of the bed, tired of hearing her say that when he watched her belly growing slowly with each passing night. “I know. You keep telling me, I’ve got ears, I’ve heard you, I know,” he lied, looking over and seeing the mounting evidence that that simply was not true. “But I have you. Or at least, I think I do. I thought I did.” Dany sighed and sat down next to him, her eyes brimming with tears.

“I’m yours,” Daenerys whispered, reaching up to caress his face. “I’m yours and you’re mine.”

“Then please let me keep you,” Jon begged. And in a moment of weakness, he decided to cave. “I know you’re going into the battle tomorrow. I know you well enough to realize now I can’t talk you out of that. But I’m begging you,  _ be careful _ . For the love of all the gods, old and new Dany,  _ please be careful _ .” He leaned into her and rested his forehead against hers. “You say we will never have a family but you  _ are _ my family now. And I want to be yours.”

“Jon…are you…?” Was he what? Was he… _ oh _ . 

“No,” he got out immediately, knowing it likely wasn’t a possibility given that she was a queen and he just a bastard. “I mean, I don’t know…I don’t know what that could mean for someone like you and someone like me. I just know I don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t want to lose you either,” she told him quietly as a few tears slipped out. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I want  _ you _ .”

“I know you don’t care that people know about our affair but--”

“Marry me,” Dany breathed. “I don’t care. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I don’t care what Tyrion says about alliances. I love you.” Jon felt all the air escape his lungs.  _ Marry her _ . Marry the queen.  _ No _ . He wouldn’t be marrying the queen. He’d be marrying Daenerys.  _ I shall take no wife. Hold no lands. Father no children.  _ His Night’s Watch vows.  _ But I’m not in the Night’s Watch anymore. _

Jon felt his eyes sting as she watched him intently, her brows pulled upward in question. She wanted to marry him. She was  _ asking him to marry her. _ Jon suddenly felt the laughter bubble up from this chest. It was all wrong. 

_ “Jon!” _ Dany scolded, her face turning from hopefully to absolutely irritated in a split second which made him laugh harder. 

“No, no,” he got out. When her eyes widened he knew he had to put her mind at ease. “No, hold on, just…” He got up and pulled her to her feet as well. She attempted to fold her arms across her chest but he took her hands in his and sank to one knee. “Dany will you marry me?” he asked simply. Jon would have been lying if he said he hadn’t fantasized about this moment, even if he also believed he would never have the nerve to do it. What he would say to her, how he would recall everything he loved about her, detail all the thoughts that had passed through his head the day he first set eyes on her back on the beach at Dragonstone, call her by her full name,  _ Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. _ But that all just seemed silly now. That was all a dream. This was real. He wasn’t imagining asking her to marry him, he actually was. And she was actually nodding her head and repeating the word  _ yes _ over and over and over again as he picked her up and set her down on the bed once more and gently and sweetly made love to the woman who was carrying his child, the woman who would become his wife.

 

The next morning, everyone suited up for battle.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, THANK YOU guys for all the amazing comments. I really appreciate them. I read them all even if I don't respond to each one. I enjoy all the in-depth comments you guys leave. They're so much fun. If you're reading and haven't commented, feel free!
> 
> So, about this chapter. I'll do a predictive Q&A because I know there's a lot that isn't said in this chapter.
> 
> 1) Q: Did Jaime and Brienne have sex?  
> A: No...not yet at least *waggles eyebrows suggestively*  
> 2)Q: Did Sansa and Pod have sex?  
> A: Abso-fucking-lutely.   
> 3) Q: Why didn't you show Podsa sex?  
> A: Because it's not really necessary. Suffice it to say Sansa enjoyed herself. Immensely.  
> 4) Q: Ohhh so is Podsa baby coming?  
> A: I mean, she's got about as good or bad a chance of getting knocked up as any other woman but that's not really the point of their encounter.  
> 5) Q: Dany asking Jon to marry her seems a bit OOC...?  
> A: Yes. It is. Totally. But, have to remember Dany is not acting like herself at the moment because she is pregnant, even if she doesn't realize it yet. So she'll be doing things normal Dany wouldn't necessarily do, or at least would think through a lot more before doing.


	22. Battle for the North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Targaryen faces off against the Boltons in the battle for the North and The Wall. Jon makes a special connection. An old ally returns. Jon realizes someone close to him has been keeping secrets.
> 
> 1/1/18 Update*  
> I will be updating within the week. Some of you may have noticed my newest work, Across the Sea. I will be working on both simultaneously. Just had the idea for that and knew I had to write it. Endgames for both are planned though.
> 
> 1/6/18 Update  
> I must sleep but nearly done with next chapter! Should have it up by tomorrow morning. New chapter for AtS tomorrow as well!

The morning of the battle. Jon couldn’t eat. He couldn’t drink. Could barely think. This wouldn’t be like when the free folk attacked Castle Black and they had the advantage of The Wall to protect them from the bulk of their forces. This wouldn’t be like Hardhome where the men they were fighting were dead and therefore were beyond saving and helping. This was fighting  _ real _ men in an open field with nothing between them but grass-covered snow.

 “You haven’t once asked for my advice in all this, you know,” Sansa commented as Jon laced his boots in his solar. Jon sighed, taking a moment to himself before he looked up at her. “Did you not think that perhaps I might have some insight because I lived with him? Because I know him and Cersei better than any person here.”

“You don’t know Cersei better than Jaime or Tyrion,” Jon shot back in irritation and stubbornness. Sansa might have been his family but he didn’t like being talked to like his choices had somehow been the wrong ones. 

“Jaime and Tyrion were never her prisoners. I lived with both of them, Ramsay and Cersei. I know the ways their minds work. I know how they like to hurt people.” Jon finally looked up from his boots, rubbing his brow. Where in the world had all her newfound confidence suddenly sprung up from? She had been herself yesterday at dinner and now she was suddenly wanting to act as his leading general in this battle. Had she taken some secret potion in the night to give her this new found fierceness?

“Alright, what would you have me do? How do we get Rickon back?” he asked.

“We’ll never get him back,” Sansa sighed and Jon’s heart skipped a beat. “Rickon is Ned’s trueborn son, the only one he’s got left as far as Ramsay knows with Bran being thought lost. And that makes Rickon a greater threat to Ramsay than you, a bastard, or me, a girl. As long as Rickon’s alive, Ramsay’s claim to Winterfell will be contested which means he won’t live long.”

“I can’t just give up on our brother,” Jon got out, shocked Sansa would have ever said such a thing. Part of taking back Winterfell and the North, aside from uniting the realm before the Long Night came again, was to get their brother to safety. 

“Listen to me, please,” Sansa implored. “He wants you to make a mistake!”

“Of course he does!” Jon growled back. “What should I do? We’ve got more men than Ramsay has, we’ve got three dragons on our side, two of which will be on the field with us. Do you think I’m just going in there, half cocked and unprepared?” he demanded. Sansa breathed hard through her nose, gathering her thoughts.

“I don’t know anything about battles but I know him. He knows the odds as they stand, if Cersei doesn’t show up, are against him. He’s going to have a contingency plan. Just…just don’t do what he wants you to do.”

“Nice, good advice,” Jon hissed, not believing he was having this conversation with her right before he was to go out and watch thousands of men die. He didn’t need this right now. And he certainly didn’t need her telling him Rickon was going to die today. 

“Oh you think that’s obvious?” Sansa shot back.

“Well it is a bit obvious.” He folded his arms across his chest, wanting her to leave so he could finish putting on his armor in peace. “Sansa just go. Brienne is probably looking for you.” With that, she stormed out, slamming his door shut. Daenerys entered the room from their bedroom, her face full of concern. 

“We’ll get him back,” she reassured him quietly, wrapping an arm about his shoulders. “We will.  _ I promise.” _ He nodded and turned to give her a quick peck on the lips before continuing to put on the rest of his armor.

 

Down in the courtyard, Jon met with Jaime Lannister while Daenerys met with the crew that would remain holding Eastwatch. As per their plan, a small group of soldiers would remain behind at the castle in case Cersei decided to hit from beyond The Wall, if she were even in the North at all. But as The Wall was much stronger than any army, only a few were needed to hold it. Still, Dany was also leaving one of her dragons, Viserion, the gold and cream one, to guard the castle. Jon didn’t know how she was able to communicate to him but he seemed to know his duty, perching himself atop The Wall like some kind of gigantic sun-colored gargoyle. Tyrion had commented that dragons were oddly intelligent creatures, possibly more intelligent than some men. With the mistakes and stupidity Jon had seen exerted by those around him, he believed it. 

“Royal Guard?” Jon was asking Jaime, genuinely confused. “Don’t you mean Queensguard?” To his surprise, Jaime merely smirked.

“We’re not just protecting the queen now, are we?”  _ The baby _ . Damn Jaime Lannister and his incessant eavesdropping. Or whoever had told him. Though he supposed, it wouldn't be long now anyway before the whole Kingdom knew the queen was with child, _ his  _ child. “Do me a favor, Snow,” Jaime added as they began to march out to the field. “Don’t do anything stupid.” Jon hated that Jaime’s words reminded him of Sansa, as if those around him  _ expected _ him to do something stupid. He was their commander. What did they take him for? 

But there was no time to ask. They needed to get out to the field. So trying to keep his anger under the surface, Jon mounted his horse and rode out, with the Royal Guard following closely behind.

 

“If I fall,” Jon began in a gravelly voice turning to Davos, but Davos spoke before Jon could find the rest of his words.

“Bring you back?” Jon clenched his jaw, unable to say it. How could a person ask for such a thing?  _ If I die, please bring me back to life. _ Jon could think of no sentence more selfish in any language in existence. And even still, he wasn’t sure it would work. There was no guarantee this  _ Lord of Light _ would grant him with rebirth for a second time. But he knew he had to make sure they tried if he didn’t make it through this battle alive. Before, he couldn’t fathom why he had come back, why he was alive again. He didn’t want to be. Now… he was to be married, he was to be a father, he had to help lead the country through the Long Night and find a way to defeat the Night King. 

When Davos raised an eyebrow to further prompt him, all Jon could do was wordlessly nod his request. Either way, he had to get back to Dany at the end of this battle. Whether he rode up to her on horseback, or shuddered a first breath again after being plunged into that eternal darkness. He had to get back to her.  

“Lucky for you Thoros is here. Brought Dondarrion back six times they told me. I’m sure it would be a piece of cake for him to bring you back again.” Davos gave a little chuckle, an attempt to lighten the mood as they stood at the head of the army, waiting, just waiting. Jon gave him another nod then turned his attention to the Bolton forces. 

Jon was glad of the low cloud cover this morning. Their plan wouldn’t have worked well otherwise. Daenerys, Drogon and Rhaegal were somewhere up above them, unseen, waiting as well. If the battle started to go south, Davos would sound the horn and signal Dany to fly down as their last hope to defeat the Boltons. Until then, she would remain safely out of sight, out of harm’s way. 

As Jon scanned the rows of soldiers across the lightly snow-covered field, he finally saw Bolton riding through his men to the frontline, rope in hand. The rope was trailing behind his horse, attached to something but Jon couldn’t yet see what it was. He could only see Ramsay and the hateful glint in his eye. By the end of this, Jon swore, Ramsay would have paid for everything house Bolton had done to house Stark. He would make sure of it.

As the figure trailing behind Ramsay came into view as they cleared the archers at the front of the army, those nearest Jon and Jon himself inhaled a collective shocked breath.  _ Rickon _ . For a moment, all Jon could do was watch as Bolton dismounted his horse and tugged Rickon along another few feet ahead of his men. He watched as Ramsay extracted something from his belt... _ a knife. _ Without thinking, Jon scrambled off his horse and rushed forward as the knife glinted in the pale light of the morning. Rickon, poor Rickon, knowing what was to happen lowered his head, accepting his fate like the Stark he was, keeping to his feet to die like a man. There wasn’t enough time. He was too far away. A call to Daenerys wouldn’t be quick enough either and would put her in grave danger as well. Jon breathed shallowly as Ramsay swiftly brought the knife down over the rope that kept Rickon’s hands tied together, freeing him.  _ What? _

Exhaling with relief and confusion, Jon saw Ramsay lean over, telling Rickon something.  _ What is happening? _ Jon wondered. Ramsay pointed to Jon and nodded, giving Rickon a little push forward. Rickon began to run in Jon’s direction and just when he thought his little brother might be safe, he watched as Ramsay’s squire handed him a bow and quiver of arrows.  _ Fuck! _

Jon sprinted back to his horse, ignoring Jaime Lannister’s shouts of protest, mounted up and spurred his horse on, praying he would get to Rickon in time. Ramsay loosed the first arrow and it missed Rickon by a good ten feet. Perhaps this bastard wasn’t as good as he thought he was.  _ “YAH!” _ Jon shouted, urging his horse to near breakneck speed. Another arrow, another miss. Rickon stumbled a bit, continued running, never looking back, his eyes focused on Jon. Just another hundred yards or so.  _ Please please please,  _ Jon begged internally. Rickon was getting closer, fifty yards, thirty, twenty,  _ nearly there. _ Ramsay loosed one last arrow and Jon tried to ignore it, it couldn’t hit him...but it was headed straight for him,  _ move Rickon move! _

_ CRASH!  _

With an earth trembling jolt, Drogon and Daenerys were on the ground in the middle of the battlefield between Rickon and Jon and Ramsay, the arrow colliding with the dragon’s hide but merely bouncing off due to the thickness of his scales. Rickon stumbled and fell to the ground at Jon’s horse’s feet as he came to a rearing stop and lept of his horse. Rickon reached out to embrace Jon but there was no time for that. Jon quickly hauled Rickon onto his horse and yelled, “Ride back to Sansa, stay out of the way!” He pointed in his sister’s general direction and gave his horse a slap on its hind quarters and off Rickon went, safe, for now. 

But Dany and Drogon weren’t so. Behind them both, Jon could see one of the scorpions being loaded and aimed. “DANY GET OUT OF HERE!” Jon screamed pointing to to the Bolton forces and reluctantly she did, the dragon taking to the air again as Ramsay’s mounted soldiers began to charge, all headed straight for Jon.  _ Fuck. _ This was exactly what Sansa had warned him about.  _ Don’t do what he wants you to do, _ she had told him. He was so stupid. Putting Dany at risk. Putting the dragons at risk. Now he stood all alone in the middle of the battlefield awaiting his fate. Slowly Jon unsheathed Longclaw, ready for whatever happened next.

The horses got closer and closer, the men atop them shouting their battle cries, some screaming  _ We own the North,  _ some merely shaking their spears and longswords in the air as the charged. They would ride him down, no question. There was no way Daenerys could get to him without getting hit herself. He had done this. This was his mistake. And he would pay for it. Dearly.

Just as Jon drew his sword back ready to swing at the oncoming horde, a rush went past him, his own men, Davos must have ordered them out onto the field and they crashed with the Boltons in a sickening crunch of steel and horseflesh.  _ “THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?” _ Jaime Lannister bellowed at him, cutting down a man who had charged at Jon.  _ “Royal guard, to me!” _ Jon took the momentary reprieve to look up and find Daenerys. It seemed she had devised a plan of taking out the scorpions herself, Rhaegal taunting and flying around as bait as she and Drogon took each one out as it aimed at the other dragon. It wasn’t perfect, Drogon nearly getting hit by other devices they weren’t currently attacking but it was a start. Two scorpions down. Six to go.

But Jon couldn’t stand there watching Daenerys fight her battle while he was still on the grounding needing to fight his. Jaime and the Royal Guard stayed close but there was so much confusion, so many bodies, arrows raining down from the sky, horses colliding with lances and each other, the sounds of the poor creatures dying mingling with men shouting, steel kissing steel, the dragons screeching, and dead men piling on top of dead men. When Jon would kill one enemy another would be right behind, poised and ready to take Jon down. His face was becoming a horrible mix of mud and blood, he could feel it, taste it, the gritty metallicness of it, oh how he longed for some water. He took in air through his nose, trying to steady his heartbeat but it was no use, as his lungs filled with the scent of dirt and shit and death. 

A horrible screech rent the air and Jon looked up momentarily to see Rhaegal thrashing about in the sky, head bent as he flapped helplessly, reaching for a spear that had lodged itself in his foot. It was difficult for him to fly and and swerve out of the way of other oncoming spears and work on the one stuck in him so he breathed fire on the stick, turning it to ash, the flame so hot the men and horses below him screamed and scattered, but it did nothing to his own flesh, a dragon being impervious to fire. 

Something hard struck Jon across the jaw and he fell backwards, a dead body breaking his fall as some Bolton soldier brought his sword down hard, Jon barely having enough time to raise Longclaw to block. The soldier pulled the sword back to bring it down a second time but just as his he reached the pinnacle of his swing, a sword ripped through his belly, killing the man instantly. Jon blinked and then Tormund was reaching for him pulling him to his feet. Neither of them said anything as Tormund clapped Jon around the neck and gave him a nod, making sure he was okay before turning to fight off someone else and Jon turned too, slashing his sword at an oncoming foe. 

It was a bloody mess. Jon had never experienced anything like this. Not even Hardhome. Dead men did not bleed. He had killed men before. He had killed many men before. But none of those experiences had ever prepared him for anything like this. No matter which way he turned there was always someone new to kill who was trying to kill him. It was utter chaos. It was madness. He tried to keep track of Dany but he could barely spare the time to glance up as there was always something in front of him to deal with. 

Heaps of the dead were creating mountains in the middle of this once pristine and flat field. They would all need to be burned later. Luckily they had the dragons for that. They couldn’t leave the dead to come back and haunt them, not after fighting them as living so hard.  _ Fuck. _ The dead. They still had to fight the dead after this. How in the world could they fight the dead after a battle like this? Jon’s arm was heavy with swinging his sword but they were nowhere near finished. Thousands upon thousands of men were all around him, some friends, some enemies. Would they all have to die for this to be over? If they all died, there would be no one left to defeat the dead and then the Night King would have won anyway. Was that his grand plan? Not to defeat man, but for man to defeat himself?

Another great screech rent the air and Jon and nearly everyone close to him looked up again as Rhaegal cried out again in pain, a spear sticking out from an elbow joint. He gave a few desperate flaps of his wings and another spear struck him hard in the back, right between his shoulder blades. As the dragon plummeted to the ground a third spear hit him in the thigh and Rhaegal crashed hard, trying to steady himself but toppling over with the pain. Jon looked to his left and miraculously there was a riderless horse rearing in fear of the dragon but he didn’t care. Mounting up, Jon charged toward Rhaegal, coming within just a few yards of him as Dany landed on Drogon not far away. 

“To me!” Jon heard Jaime shout, not knowing how he had got to him so fast but just glad he had. Jaime had sworn their first night at Eastwatch that he would try to protect Jon and his children and he seemed to be doing a proper job of it so far. “Royal Guard, to me!” Jaime yelled for his fellow men on the field. “Protect the Queen and King! Protect the Queen and King!”  _ King? _ Jon pondered in his scattered, battle-frayed thoughts. Who in the world was Jaime talking about? But right now it didn’t matter. He had to get those spears out of Rhaegal so he could become airborne again before more were hurled at him and landed fatal blows. 

“Dany, take care of the scorpion! I’ve got him!” Jon shouted at her as she moved to dismount Drogon. She shouted something back that he couldn’t hear but a moment later she and Drogon were in the air again, flying toward the last scorpion device. The soldier operating it aimed a shot at Dany and Drogon but Drogon, being familiar with the horrible weapon from when they attacked Euron’s fleet, knew what to expect and banked hard in the opposite direction just in time, the spear missing by several feet. The time it took the man to load the next one was just enough and with a quick shouted command, Drogon shot fire down on the scorpion and the soldier, turning both to ash instantly. 

Jon dismounted his horse and approached Rhaegal quickly but carefully, shouting his intentions as he made his way toward the wounded dragon. Rhaegal screeched at him just as Drogon had the first time he approached though Jon didn’t have time for pleasantries and introductions now. They were in the middle of a battle. But Tyrion must have been correct in that dragons were eerily intelligent creatures because as Jon approached the first spear, Rhaegal seemed to sense his intentions and allowed him to come closer.

As he gripped the first spear lodged in Rhaegal’s thigh, the dragon began breathing fire at approaching enemies and Jon tried hard to ignore their screams of anguish as they burned to death. A few harsh tugs later and the spear was out. The dragon gave a screech of relief and Jon moved quickly to dislodge the one on his back. Stepping carefully, he did as he had seen Dany do the few times he watched her ride Drogon and climbed up the dragon at his shoulder joint. Rhaegal thrashed about, in pain, fear, and probably completely irritation at a human crawling around on his back. Dany only ever rode Drogon so the sensation of having something on him was probably incredibly disquieting to Rhaegal. Jon worked quickly, planting his feet between spikes along the dragon’s spine, gripped the spear hard and yanked. It took several pulls as this one seemed to be in much deeper than the other but it came free with a spurt of fresh blood. Rhaegal reared up at the pain, causing Jon to fall off the back of him but it didn’t matter. Only one more spear to go. Jon dusted himself off and Dany landed near him again rushing to his side to help remove the third spear as Jaime and the Royal Guard fought off the men who were trying to get to the both of them. 

“They’re too mixed in with our men now. Ramsay planned it this way, I know it. I can’t hit them without burning alive our men as well!” Dany cried, gripping the spear with Jon as they both gave a tug. 

“I know, I know,” Jon shouted back over the sounds of dying men. Another tug. Nothing. “You need to get out of here. You took out as many men as you could. We can handle it from here.”

“I’m not leaving you!”

“Dany, I--”

But just then, through the sounds of steel clashing, flesh ripping, men screaming, a war horn that wasn’t Davos’s sounded and hooves could be heard pounding off in the distance. Jon and Dany gave another hard tug and the spear came free and Rhaegal took immediately to the skies again. But relief at his well being was short lived because as they turned around, Jon and Daenerys were met with the sight of thousands of men in gold armor charging toward the battlefield.  _ The Golden Company. _

“Drogon!” Dany shouted for the dragon who was up in the sky with his brother. Their forces couldn’t handle Cersei’s sellswords  _ and _ the Boltons. The dragons were the only option they had left.

“Wait…” Jon said slowly grasping her hand. The figure at the front of the army. The figure riding a horse harder than Jon had ever seen a man ride, sword aloft, had armor different from the rest of the sellswords. His armor contained was bronze, emblazoned with a fearsome kraken…

“WINTERFELL!!!” was Theon’s battle cry as he lead the Golden Company and all their men, horses, and elephants straight toward the Bolton forces. Jon and Daenerys exchanged gleefully relieved looks and watched as the Golden Company plowed through the Boltons like a warm knife through butter. Stunned and elated, Jon just stood and watched for a moment as the army Ramsay had been counting on to assist him was now cutting his men down and their elephants trampling them. 

“Jon, Jon!” Dany shook him out of his reverie. “Where’s Ramsay?” They both scanned the field quickly, Tormund suddenly and inexplicably at their side as well. 

“He’s headed back to the castle!” Tormund shouted, pointing to a retreating Ramsay who was racing through the field toward the Bolton holdfast. Jon had no time to correct Tormund and tell him that it wasn’t a castle, merely a stone structure with a stone wall around it they were using as protection. “Don’t worry, I got that Umber fucker for you.” Tormund spat out a mouthful of blood and Jon realized he didn’t want to ask Tormund how he killed Smalljon Umber but was just glad that he had. 

“Let’s go!” Dany shouted, mounting Drogon who landed smoothly beside her. Jon climbed atop his own horse, Tormund took one from the Royal Guard and Jaime rode hard right behind them. Ramsay was quite a bit further away from them and reached the structure well before they did. They closed the gates and archers were posted all along the battlements but with a quickly shouted command in High Valyrian, Daenerys ordered Drogon to burn down the structure’s wooden gate and in seconds, the rest were able to ride through the ashes. Jaime’s men and a mix of free folk and Tully soldiers quickly took out Bolton’s guards and the men who didn’t immediately yield. Then Ramsay stood before them all, alone, save for the bow he held in his hand.

“You know Snow, I’ve been thinking,” Ramsay began calmly. “We’re both northmen. What say you to ending this the old way? You. Against me?” Jon dismounted as Ramsay talked, breathing hard at the effort of fighting nonstop for so long. This was the man who held his little brother captive for months on end and nearly killed him. This was the man who raped and beat his sister repeatedly. This was the man whose father put a knife in his brother’s heart. This was the man who mutilated Theon Greyjoy beyond what any human being could ever deserve. Well, except perhaps Ramsay himself.

Ramsay reached for an arrow, nocked it, and Jon rushed forward picking up a fallen shield just in time to block the shot. Ramsay calmly reached for another arrow, as Jon stalked forward, blocking the next shot too. Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw Tormund and Jaime exchange confused looks as if not sure if they should intervene. But they didn’t need to. This would all be over in a matter of moments. One final missed shot and Jon rammed the shield into Ramsay’s arm, knocking the bow out of his hand then recoiled and struck again, catching Ramsay right in the throat. 

Before he could even catch his breath, Jon was on him, anger coursing through him as it had never done before. All the horrible feelings, all the hatred, all the anger Jon ever had stored up in his bones was pouring forth in this moment as his fist collided with Ramsay’s face again and again and again. With each blow he landed Jon thought a name.  _ Sansa, Robb, Theon, Rickon. _ Even names Ramsay wasn’t responsible for.  _ Ygritte, Lord Stark, Commander Mormont, Ser Alliser Thorne _ and the knife he shoved in his gut,  _ Olly, Cersei Lannister, Euron Greyjoy. _ Anyone he had ever lost, anyone who had ever harmed or wronged him or his family or those he cared for. That was what the bastard Ramsay Bolton represented and Jon would beat him until there was nothing left. Until either Ramsay gave up or Jon’s arm did. Again and again and again. His fist was growing sore but he kept hitting, taking a morbid delight in the way Ramsay’s skin purpled and seeped with blood. 

At least, until he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Jon turned, his fist hesitating then pulling back as he looked up and saw Daenerys and Sansa, clutching each other’s hands watching him silently, horrified looks on their faces. Jon peered down at Ramsay who twitched and could barely blink, his breathing shallow. Standing, he shook the blood from his hand and walked away, knowing it was not his place to finish Ramsay. But damn, had it felt good to get so close. 

 

“Dragon pot pie, I believe is what you said, was it not Lord Bolton?” Daenerys clarified, standing in front of the platform to which Ramsay was tied, Sansa at her side. But when he perked up with a stuttered cough, Ramsay only had eyes for his soon to be widow. 

“Sansa,” he rasped. “Hello Sansa.” But if his sister felt anything at hearing Ramsay Bolton say her name one last time, Jon couldn’t see it on her face. Sansa remained stoic and calm, her features completely devoid of emotion. “I sense our time together is about to come to an end,” Ramsay rattled on, his voice hoarse but his words confident and clear. “That’s alright. You can’t kill me. I’m part of you now.” Jon saw Dany’s hand ball to a fist and her jaw clench tightly but Sansa remained still.

“Your words will disappear,” Sansa told Ramsay, voice monotone. “Your house will disappear. Your name will disappear. All memory of you will disappear.” Ramsay smiled as if vindicated and allowed his eyes to finally leave Sansa’s lovely face to watch Drogon growling on the periphery of his vision. 

_ “Whenever you’re ready,” _ Dany whispered to Sansa and Sansa nodded.  _ “Dracarys!” _ Daenerys commanded and Drogon rained fire down on Bolton, setting his body alight before ripping him from his post and swallowing him whole. Jon couldn’t be sure as he was standing behind them, but he could have sworn he saw Sansa’s mouth pull at the corners into a grim yet satisfied smile. It worried him in a way he couldn’t explain, but there was no time to dwell on it. Their fight was far from over. 

 

“This looks to be only about half the Golden Company and no Lannister soldiers,” Jaime was saying back in the great hall of Eastwatch. “Where’s the rest of them? Where’s Cersei?”

“How did you manage all this, Theon? What happened to Euron? And your sister?” Daenerys added, echoing everyone’s gratefulness at Theon’s appearance with the Golden Company but curious as to how it all happened. To Jon’s surprise, Theon looked to Sansa then they both looked to him, faces darkening guiltily. Jon clenched his jaw, realization dawning on him.

“Where are Bran and Arya?” he demanded and Edmure who seemed to be catching on as well looked between Theon and Sansa, shocked.

“Bran is safe,” Theon explained immediately. “He’s on an unmarked ship just off the coast with Yara. We didn’t want to bring him ashore until we knew R-Ramsay was dead.” Jon’s nostrils flared. Theon hadn’t said Aray’s name yet for a reason.

“Jon they wanted to help,” Sansa jumped in. “Theon came to us explaining his plan. He didn’t ask for Bran and Arya to go with him but they both did because they knew it was the only way. And...Arya said she wanted to kill Cersei herself.”

_ “Where is our sister?” _

_ “Where is my sister?” _ Jon and Jaime got out at the same time. 

Theon looked to Sansa again and she nodded. “Arya killed Euron. Back before we left Myr with the Golden Company. Cersei wasn’t very trusting of Euron so she and the Lannister forces were on separate ships. The only way we could attack her would be in the North. We sent the other half of the Golden Company beyond The Wall with her to defeat the Lannisters once and for all. Arya still has Euron’s face. It’s how she plans to get to Cersei.”

“So you’re telling me my sister is beyond The Wall right now, with no protection?” Jon demanded and all Theon could do was open and close his mouth, silent. “How far North did they anchor?” 

“Not far. Somewhere in the Bay of Seals but not as far north as Hardhome. Close enough to where they could come south to help Ramsay attack The Wall,” Theon explained hurriedly. 

“But they didn’t come attack The Wall!” Jon spat, furious as he imagined all manner of horrible things happening to his sister. 

“That’s because they were never going to,” Theon went on. “After they landed, Arya planned to have the other half of the Golden Company attack the remaining Lannister forces and Cersei. They could still be fighting. It might take them a few days to come back down south or they may even sail to White Harbor. We hadn’t discussed specifics for afterward.”

“Great,” Jon fumed, “just great. You all go into this with half a plan, leaving Arya alone out there where the gods only know what could take her…” Jon sank into the nearest chair and held his head in his hands, his whole body feeling like lead. His body recognizing for the first time that all the force and power it had put out for the battle was now gone and he had little left to keep him going. 

“She’ll come back, we just have to be patient,” Daenerys soothed, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. But just as Jon reached for her a horn blasted, a signal from one of the men on guard from atop The Wall. Everyone in the room froze, waiting for a second or third blast. But mercifully, it was just the one. After the initial relief of hearing only one blast passed over them, everyone scrambled for the door so they could get down to the great gate of The Wall and see just who their single visitor was, Jon praying it was Arya.

However, when they reached the gate, the lone figure collapsed on her nearly dead horse, was none other than Obara Sand. Nymeria and Tyene shoved forward through everyone to get to their sister and pry her from the horse. 

“Obara!” Tyene shouted, slapping her sister’s face, never being one for comfort or softness. “Obara wake up! What happened?” she demanded. Bronn was shouting for the maester, Jaime was rushing forward stripping off his cloak. Obara’s thin little lips were a bluish purple from the cold, her once sunkissed skin now pale and ashen. But even in her hypothermic state, she was able to get out a few words before sleep took her. 

“Dead. The dead march. For The Wall.”


	23. Beyond the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon travels beyond The Wall to save Arya and the rest of the Golden Company and Lannister soldiers. Jon figures out the answer to a question that has plagued him for years...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, I know it's been a while and I won't lie, this chapter gave me a lot of trouble. I had planned since the beginning to have the Lannisters end up beyond the Wall but didn't realize how problematic it would be until I got to writing the chapter. So, to move the story along and to assist with my writing, this chapter is not chronological and is from multiple POVs. I hope it makes sense the way it's written. It wasn't what I originally hoped it would be but at least now I can move on and finish the story. Please let me know what you guys think! You can be totally honest.  
> The geography and scenery are inspired by episodes Hardhome and Beyond The Wall.

“Jon, I think you’ve always known,” Dany told him quietly, voice thick, as he lay in his old bed in Winterfell, healing.  _ Always known? _ How in the world could he have always known? Jon clenched his eyes shut trying to remember everything he knew or had ever thought about who his mother might be. About who he truly was.  _ Not a Stark. _ His dreams of the crypts and the old Kings of Winter coming for him.  _ You’re only half a wolf Jon,  _ he had dreamt Dany saying to him once.  _ So what’s the other half? _ His father, the last time he had ever seen him.  _ You may not have my name, but you have my blood. _ Why didn’t his father ever like talking about his mother? Was he so ashamed of her or did he love her that much? The drinking game on the ship, Missandei asking him where he was born.  _ Somewhere in the south, I think. _ The South. The North. North and South…Summer. Winter. Ice and Fire. Direwolves and Dragons. But he had already ruled that out.  _ Am I a dragon? _ he had asked Dany in one of his dreams to which she replied,  _ You’ve always been a dragon, Jon. _ Why did his dreams always seem so important? They were just nonsense weren’t they?  _ The dragon has three heads,  _ dream-Rhaegar had told him. Had told Dany in her vision in Qarth. Jon wasn’t a dragon though. There was no way. He had considered all the possibilities. How could Dany say he had always known? There was no one. No one. The only woman he had ever spoken to her about, the only woman he ever recognized from the dreams he had been having since landing on Dragonstone was… 

_ “No,” _ Jon got out, his eyes snapping open. Dany raised her eyebrows and her lips tilted in half a sad smile. She knew. “No,” Jon said again, tears stinging his eyes. She was…but they had gone to Dorne. In the  _ south. _ Ned Stark had come back to Winterfell after the war with her bones and…Jon. He never liked to talk about his mother. He never liked to talk about his sister… 

Jon blinked rapidly but the tears wouldn’t stop coming. He looked to Dany who’s lower lip was trembling as well. She took one of his hands in hers and ran the other along the side of his face, thumb brushing tears away as they fell. “Bran said she loved you very much,” Dany explained. Jon covered his mouth with his hand and nodded, not knowing what to do. “He said she knew she didn’t have long. She made Ned swear to protect you. Keep you safe. She didn’t want what happened to your brother and sister to happen to you.”  _ Brother and sister. _ Half brother and sister. His father.  _ His father. _

Jon couldn’t stand it anymore and with a stuttered sob he sat up and latched onto Dany, letting her cradle him in her arms as he wept.  

 

Two weeks. He had been unconscious two weeks and it seemed when he woke, the world was a completely different place. The last thing he remembered before finally being able to open his eyes in his own room, Dany at his side, was the fall. Thousands upon thousands of them. The dead. Arya had managed to find a small valley just off the coast of the Bay of Seals in the Haunted Forest to hold the Lannister forces and the other half of the Golden Company. Ridges on two sides to offer some protection and a small river coming off the bay. She was smart. But the Night King was smarter. 

Cersei had ordered they put caches of wildfire along the perimeter of the camp, just in case the Targaryens decided to wage war on both sides of The Wall and would come for them before they went south. Jon didn’t feel odd at all admitting it was a move that had saved many lives and given them the time they needed to escape. Arya had sent the ships back down south after everyone was unloaded beyond The Wall. They wouldn’t need them, she had reasoned to Cersei - as Euron - because they were going south anyway to meet up with Ramsay’s forces. Plus, Arya didn’t want Cersei to have any way of escaping. She had destroyed so many in the North. She would meet her end here. 

Arya had thought they would be safe. When Bran spoke of the last he had seen of the Night King and army of the dead when he went beyond The Wall to become the three-eyed raven, he told her they were far to the west. The three-eyed raven’s cave was well north of the Fist of the First Men and if the dead were to have any chance of getting passed The Wall, it would be near the Shadow Tower where The Wall ran into the mountains there. The dead would have no reason to come back east. They had already destroyed Hardhome and there were no free folk left. Oh how wrong he had been.

Bran later told Jon his visions were scattered. He couldn’t see everything all at once. He had to focus on a time and place or person to get the information he needed. If he wasn’t looking for something specific, he wouldn’t see it. A caveat to his incredible gift. 

The Golden Company knew their role. They had known shortly after leaving Myr. Fight for a Lannister who had put an entire city to the torch because she couldn’t accept defeat. Or fight for the last Targaryen, a woman who shared blood with the founder of the Golden Company, Aegor Rivers otherwise known as Bittersteel. It wasn’t much of a choice at all.

They would kill the Lannisters officers at night, Arya insisting she be the one to end Cersei, thereby crossing her name off that shortening list of hers. If the soldiers submitted and swore allegiance to Arya, they would be granted their lives. If they refused, they knew the end they would meet. But none of that had happened. A strong winter storm had halted all plans for several days, soldiers barely able to leave their tents it was so unbearable outside. Then after that, all seven hells broke loose.   

 

“So,” Jon began as they sat shivering in the hull of the ship, headed up the coast. “Was it my imagination or did I hear you say  _ protect the king _ during the battle?” Jaime’s lips twitched.

“Well, typically when you  _ marry _ a queen, you become a king. Or did you not understand how that worked?”

“Marry a queen?” Jon choked. He had only asked her two nights ago. And  _ he _ certainly hadn’t told anyone yet. Not even Davos. Had Dany been blabbing?

“You ever talk with Missandei after she’s had a few cups of wine?” Jaime chuckled at Jon’s horrified face. “She’s quite chatty. Likes to tell translator jokes. Anyway, Daenerys told her, and she told me. Might have said something like, if I didn’t bring you back from beyond The Wall she’ll make it so Grey Worm and I have a lot more in common than just being fighters.” At this Jon did laugh, despite the idea of being a king making his stomach flip. Dany had already named him her successor should something happen to her during the war. He supposed he should have been used to the idea.

“You’re a lot better suited to it than you think,” Jaime said as if reading his thoughts. “And not like you can get out of it now. We can’t have the queen give birth to a bastard, whose own father was a bastard, can we?” As Jon closed his eyes at the annoying amount of information Jaime had, he heard him say, “Missandei,” as way of explanation of how he knew about the baby. 

“You alright?” Jon asked Grey Worm as the Unsullied commander came in from above deck. Unlike Tormund and Jon who had been north of The Wall before and were used to the chill, Grey Worm had a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face several times and a cap on his head.

“I’ve been here for six months,” he grunted in his Astapori accent. “I’m fine.” Jaime and Jon exchanged a knowing look, both trying hard to hide smiles. Grey Worm, like the rest of the men on this expedition had volunteered though Jon wondered now how many of them were starting to regret their decision. 

It was different out to sea versus going north by foot. The seas were rough, the winds were more powerful. And being surrounded by freezing water just seemed to make everything feel that much colder. Daenerys had flown, unbeknownst to Jon, up the coast the night before and located the Golden Company. She said they were several days march north or half a day’s ship ride. Flying over at night, she had said she couldn’t quite make out anything as there was a raging winter storm going on but from the quick glances she got, everything appeared normal. No Walkers. Possibly no mutiny yet. But they all appeared to still be alive.  

At the latest, Jon told her they would arrive back at Eastwatch by the next evening, if what she said about the camp being half a day’s sail north was correct. Dany thought this unacceptable as she reasoned they should come back later that night. They were already leaving well before first light. But Jon didn’t want her out flying again, especially with the winter winds being so harsh up here. He still couldn’t use the baby as an excuse as to why she should sit out the action but Missandei had helped convince her that she should stay behind and tend to Rhaegal’s wounds from the battle. This had been enough to guilt her not to go with them. Though if they were gone too long, Jon knew she would come after them. He prayed gathering the last of the Golden Company wouldn’t take too long and that by the time they arrived, Arya would have already dealt with the Lannisters.

 

They weren’t supposed to be here. They weren’t supposed to be in the east. This wasn’t supposed to happen. How had Bran been wrong? Bran knew everything. He knew about Arya travelling with the Night’s Watch. He knew about her becoming a faceless man. He knew about a boy named  _ Gendry…  _ How had he not known about this? How had he not seen them coming? And she had given the order to send the ships away. They didn’t even have skiffs, she had sent them back to the ships too. She had needed so badly to ensure Cersei couldn’t escape. That she would be able to kill her. Now she had nearly sealed the fates of everyone under her command. Cersei wasn’t even with them anymore. Harry Strickland had just come to report that Gregor Clegane had carried her off into the woods screaming. It was all for nothing.

“Lady Stark!” Commander Strickland shouted. “The wildfire!” Wildfire! Bran had said fire killed wights. For once Cersei’s obsession with watching things burn may have been a positive thing. But just before she could give the order to light all the caches around the camp - watching as the dead squeezed themselves between the ridges slowly making their way into the valley, the soldiers fighting them as they came but not nearly enough to keep them at bay for long - a horn sounded from off the coast.  

Ignoring Strickland’s calls to her, Arya turned and ran along the riverbank until it opened out to the beach and the sea, her heart nearly bursting as she watched about twenty skiffs making their way to shore. Off the coast were as many ships, waiting for them, some bearing the Targaryen sigil.  _ Jon.  _ She wanted to cry she was so relieved.  _ He was here to save her. _

 

The night of the battle, after Obara had returned, Jon needed peace and quiet. Theon and Dany had convinced him to wait one more day before going out to look for Arya and the rest of the soldiers. The dead were still far to the west, Obara had assured them. Still, they needed to be ready. Jon inquired about the wildfire they had sent up after the destruction of King’s Landing and was informed it hadn’t been used yet. He ordered the disgraced alchemists to place it along the line of trees in the haunted forest and then for catapults to be placed atop The Wall that could launch flaming packages to land on the wildfire and ignite it. If and when the dead reached The Wall, they would be facing a good fight indeed.

After orders were given, Jon ventured outside to a little grove of trees the dragons had nestled themselves in. With all the burned and broken branches, it almost looked like a giant bird’s nest... _ dragon’s nest, _ Jon thought with a smile. As he made his way through the trees to the newly made clearing in the center, he saw a familiar figure, standing in front of Drogon. The dragon had his head resting on a wing but his eyes were open, not really in curiosity but he also didn’t seem to mind. Ghost however wouldn’t stop sniffing him. He would walk around to the side of the dragon, step closer, Drogon would follow him with his eyes, give his wing a twitch and Ghost would jump back, tail in the air, nose to the ground almost in submission, before he’d jump up again. If Jon didn’t know any better, he would have guessed they were… _ playing. _

Thinking back, Jon couldn’t remember Ghost ever being so close to any of the dragons, especially not when he or Dany were around. It was an odd moment. Something about the unbelievableness of it, these two ancient magical creatures, animals that probably had never encountered one another in thousands of years, if ever, suddenly coexisting, getting along even. There was a kind of beauty about it that Jon didn’t seem to have the words to describe.

As he got nearer and his feet crunched the blackened twigs on the ground, Ghost looked up and sprinted to his side, tongue lolling out of his mouth excitedly. “You making friends?” Jon asked him quietly and reached out to scratch him behind the ears. “Well let’s go see how our injured battle hero’s doing, hmm?” Ghost followed him through the clearing as Jon approached the green dragon, Rhaegal. He was smaller than Drogon, as was Viserion, Tyrion said because of their months in confinement under the pyramid in Meereen. Even still, they were massive to Jon and though he had already had successful encounters with Drogon and Rhaegal - successful in that they hadn’t eaten him - his heart still hammered as he moved amongst them.

Rhaegal too rested on his wings, both folded under his chin, tail tucked around his body like a cat. But though he certainly looked tired, his bronze eyes were wide with curiosity watching Jon and Ghost walk up. Like when Drogon had returned to Dragonstone, Jon removed his glove and slowly stuck his hand toward Rhaegal’s snout, waiting his permission to step closer. The dragon gave him a small sniff and, seeming satisfied, made no effort to move from his relaxed position. Jon let out a small sigh of relief and ran a hand over his scales, Rhaegal’s thick skin twitching under his touch. 

“You were very brave today,” Jon told him as he continued to stroke him. “We wouldn’t have made it without you.” Rhaegal closed his eyes and let out a noise somewhere between a whistle and a sigh as if he enjoyed being pet. Jon almost laughed but bit it back in case it would offend him. This big, intimidating, incredibly deadly creature, liked to be pet as much as any domesticated dog, as much as Ghost. Though he was in a clearing with three gigantic fire-breathing dragons, Jon felt a sense of peace wash over him he hadn’t felt in a long while. Maybe it was the warmth of the clearing from the ashes on the ground and the dragons’ steady breathing, maybe it was Ghost’s happily wagging tail as he sat at Jon’s side. He had no right to feel at ease. There was so much going on he had no control over, so much responsibility hanging over his head. He didn’t have time for rest in the woods. But something about being here felt as if…it reminded him of his dreams from Dragonstone. His dreams of dragons…and direwolves…and… 

“What are you doing laying out here all by yourself, I’ve been looking all over for you?” Daenerys said nettled. At her appearance, Ghost bounded toward her, tail high. She shook her head with a smile and knelt to pet him and let him lick her face. Jon watched, his heart giving a jerk at the site. His direwolf. His wife. His child. Even with all the troubles they faced, everything he needed was right here.   

“I guess I’d better get back inside,” he told her as he enveloped her in his arms. She nodded, offering him her cheek for a kiss.

“Theon’s looking for you. Asking if he should send word to summon Bran back to the mainland.”

“No,” Jon said immediately. “Not until we get word Cersei’s been taken care of. I’ve got half a mind to send Sansa out as well now she’s seen Ramsay dead.”

“Well, you better go back and tell them.”

“Are you going to stay out here?”

“For a little while,” she said, untangling herself from his embrace and making her way to Drogon. “I’ll see you in bed.” He hadn’t thought anything of the fact that Dany was still in her armor from the battle until she returned hours and hours later with her report of north of The Wall.

 

 All Jon knew was that he was cold. Freezing. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. Everything around him was blurry. Hands were all over him, carrying him, supporting him. Was he walking? Was he laying down? Were the hands on him living? The dead? Was he dead again? If there was something and not nothing then Jon at least knew he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t sure if that was comforting in this particular moment. Not even dying had hurt this much. So cold everything burned. 

He was hovering. Somewhere. It wasn’t the world he knew. And it wasn’t nothing. He wasn’t sure what it was. But it kept trying to pull him down. Down into the nothing. Away from the cold. At least in the nothing he wouldn’t be cold…NO. He couldn't go back there. There might not be a returning this time if he went back. And he had something to fight for. Didn’t he? It was so hard to think in this space, this in between. Something was anchoring him home though. Why? What was making him stay? When would the cold end? Warmth. He was staying for something warm. Not warm to the touch. A warmth that filled him up. Whenever she was near. Whenever he heard her voice… 

_ Please come back to me Jon. _ Was the voice real? Whose voice was that?  _ Please come back. You can’t leave us. You can’t leave without knowing the truth. _ Truth? What truth? What did he need to know? Everything was so heavy. He was so heavy. He would tell his limbs to move, his eyes to open, did he even have eyes anymore? He couldn’t see. 

_ How could he never have told us? _ A hissed whisper. Angry?  _ His best friend…wouldn’t have harmed him. _ Harmed who?  _ You told her and not me? _ What was this truth they all spoke of? What did he need to know? He needed to know something. He had to get back to find out. To be with her. 

Light. But it was fleeting. Or maybe not. Dark. Light. How much time was passing? What was he missing? Surly he was missing so much. He had to get back. He had to know the truth. He had to save them all. He had to see her again and... _ their child.  _ He was going to be a father! How could he have forgotten? All this time, the somewhere in between. He was going to be a father. He couldn’t leave yet. He had to get back to them. To his child. To...Dany. Daenerys. She was going to be his wife. He had to wake up. He had to open his eyes. Wake up. Wake Up. WAKE UP.

_ “Dany!” _ She sat at his bedside, their eyes meeting as his vision cleared. Her eyes filled with tears as she realized he was actually awake.  _ “Dany,” _ he breathed. He had made his way back to her. For now. 

 

_ Ghost.  _ One of the reasons Jon had called him Ghost, he told her, was because he almost never made a sound, he was so quiet. And that’s how she knew something was wrong. It was passed midday and she knew the ships should have landed at the camp by now. They would be loading up soldiers, as long as Arya had done what she set out to do in the first place and had finally put an end to Cersei’s tyranny. 

But, Ghost. He wouldn’t stop scratching at the door so Dany let him out and he bounded down the hallway through the castle,  _ barking.  _ She had never heard him bark before. Did direwolves  _ bark? _ She followed him and when he set foot on the snow outside, he stopped and let out a howl that raised all the hairs on the back of her neck. He did it two more times, her stomach clenching, heart hammering. Something was  _ terribly  _ wrong. He then took off toward the clearing where she knew the dragons were nestled and before he was even halfway there Drogon lifted up into the sky.  _ What was happening? _ Viserion and Rhaegal quickly followed and Dany called to Drogon, not knowing what was going on. 

Missandei came running out after her, face horrified. “Something’s wrong,” Dany told her immediately. “Go get my fur coat.” Missandei said not a word but ran back into the castle as Ghost retreated back to Dany, more agitated than she had ever seen him. Drogon landed not too far away as did his brothers but they all looked ruffled and jumpy. She looked between Ghost and the dragons, trying to piece together how they could possibly know and trying not to think about whatever was making them like this.   

Her advisor returned with her coat and with nimble fingers, quickly helped her button herself up. “I should go with you,” Missandei insisted, guessing where Dany was headed. “No, there’s no time. Stay with her,” she told the direwolf with a quick pat and then Missandei and Ghost watched as Dany mounted up on Drogon and headed with the three dragons beyond The Wall. 

 

_ “LOOSE!!!” _ Arya screamed and flaming arrows rained down near where they had planted the caches of wildfire when they first made camp. Most missed but one hit the trail of green they had laid in the snow, sparking immediately like an extra oiled candle wick. The bright, unnaturally emerald flame snaked through the dead, some of them catching fire right there.  _ Good, the bastards, _ Arya thought. It slithered and twisted around one of the ridges as the dead continued to cram into the valley and her soldiers ran for the river. It was fucking freezing and wide and deep but if they could get to the other side, it would be safer for them to load into Jon’s skiffs to be taken back to the ships sent to rescue them. 

And then she felt it. The ground beneath her feet trembled, just momentarily before… _ BOOM! _ The flash of green was the brightest thing she had ever seen. It was as if the sun had fallen down in between the two ridges and burst. The dead nearest went flying, some being torn to pieces by the sheer force of the blast. Rock from the ridges flew straight up into the air but then, mercilessly, miraculously, it fell just between creating a blockage some fifteen, twenty feet high. It was just the dead that still moved in the valley they had to worry about. If they could only get all the soldiers to the boats and then to the ships, they would be safe. 

 

As he saw the passage the dead were coming through blocked from the blast, Jon ordered the skiffs to land on the south side of the river, closer to the valley so the soldiers would no longer have to wade through to outrun the dead. He and Arya embraced briefly. She wanted to stay. Said she had to make sure all her men got out safely. His sister. His  _ youngest _ sister. She was commanding armies. She was leading. How had this happened? How had they all changed so much since last they saw each other? He kissed her forehead hard and told her how much he loved her and had missed her. But she couldn’t stay. She had done enough. She had ordered the wildfire lit. She had bought them all time. She needed to go. Get to the ships. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay and help saying it was all her fault but it wasn’t. She had done spectacularly. And now she needed to get back home, to Sansa, to Bran. So with the urging of some of the fellow officers, she boarded a skiff with a group of soldiers and headed back to the fleet.

It was unlike anything Jon had ever seen. Even Hardhome hadn’t been like this. Hardhome was…maybe ten thousand. Fifteen at most. Before the wildfire blast he had seen  _ tens _ of thousands beyond the ridge. It had to have been a hundred thousand, at least. And they were all coming for the living. He ordered every skiff going back to switch rowers each trip so they were all at their pique strength and could get to the ships and back in as little time as possible. But the dead were still coming. They had played their wildfire trick. They had no more. When the dead started coming over the rock, they’d be finished. 

Jon closed his eyes as he stood on the riverbank. They had got a good portion of the soldiers out. But all the horses,  _ elephants, _ supplies…It wasn’t enough. He muttered a prayer…or maybe it was a curse, under his breath. Like Hardhome he had come here to save them all. But he knew, also like Hardhome, there would come a point where he’d have to make the tough decision to board a skiff and head back, leaving many behind. 

“You should get back,” Jorah told him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “The wildfire bought us time. But not enough.” Jorah pointed to the top of one of the ridges and Jon’s stomach dropped. There he was, eyes directly on Jon as if he would always be able to find him, no matter where he was.  _ I see you, Jon Snow. I always see you. _

He broke eye contact with him long enough to look to the blockage. Slowly, dead men were crawling over, not even caring about the fall. It wouldn’t hurt them. A dead thing didn’t feel pain. “Let’s go!” Jorah insisted. Jon looked around.  _ Where was Jaime? _ As they landed Jaime had run straight into the fray looking for his sister and hadn’t reemerged. While his sword was Valyrian steel, he only had one hand. His man Bronn had been at his side but he didn’t see Bronne either. Jaime had saved him more than once when they battled Ramsay’s army. Jon couldn’t leave him behind.

“We have to find Ser Jaime,” Jon insisted and Jorah shook his head, frustrated but following. Sandor Clegane, Tormund, and Grey Worm followed along as well. Every dead man he passed, Jon cut down with Longclaw. Every living soldier, he yelled to get to the riverbank. There were too many. It was too much. But he had to try. He couldn’t watch again as the Night King rose more dead for his army. He couldn’t see those pale arms raise as bodies twitched back to some semblance of life, their only function to take others down with them. He had to get as many out as possible. If only he had more time…

 

Drogon let out a mighty screech as they crested the ridge to the valley and saw the dead pouring down into it from the rocks that were blocking the passage. There were bodies everywhere. Living and dead. She saw the skiffs along the riverbank trying to load up as many as possible. She would buy them time. She had to. She didn’t even need to shout  _ Dracarys. _ Her sons knew what to do with these dead men. As soon as the living saw the dragons, most of them abandoned their fight and made way for the boats. If she could only hold off the dead while the men boarded, it would be enough. They couldn’t take out the entire army. There was just too many of them. One hundred thousand. One hundred and fifty? More? But they could delay them.

Dany looked down, searching frantically for Jon. She knew he would be amongst the soldiers, ever the savior, always wanting to do his part. Even from her height on dragonback, it didn’t take long to locate him. His dark hair, pale face, lithe body moving so gracefully. Drogon shot a jet of fire down on the dead nearest Jon and landed with a powerful thud, continuing to burn those coming closest. Jon smiled up at her, looking at her as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real. Dany had a similar feeling. It had been on a whim that she had flown up here when Ghost started causing a scene. And now that she was here, she was infinitely grateful she had trusted her instincts, trusted Ghost and her sons. Jon was alive. 

Jaime, Bronn, Jorah, Sandor, Tormund and Grey Worm mounted up, Jon taking out a handful of the dead as they did to buy them time. Jorah called to him and Jon spun around, killing one last dead soldier before he climbed on Drogon as well and the dragon took to the air. But as Drogon flew toward the riverbank to make a wide arch around the valley, a piercing, horrible screech rent the air. Dany’s head spun and Drogon banked hard to the left. 

It all happened so fast. Drogon changing direction to watch as his brother fell. Viserion screaming as the life poured out of him and he descended in a tangle of wings. Jon losing his grip and plummeting toward the sea. Jaime leaping in after him, neither reemerging from the water and being so far from any of the boats currently out on the water. Rhaegal crying out as he disappeared back down south. Dany catching one single glimpse of the Night King. 

One of his henchmen was pulling another spear out for the Night King to attempt to launch at Drogon. They had to get out. They had to leave before she lost another son. One last look below. Still no Jon or Jaime. Jorah shouted at her. The Night King hurled the spear in their direction but Drogon was now so practiced at this, the spear missed by a good twenty feet. And then they were headed back to The Wall. To Eastwatch. Without Jon.

 

Jaime had always been a fair swimmer but  _ fuck _ this water was cold. However, he was just lucky he hadn’t smashed his head into the rocks at the bottom like Snow had. He may have been a short lad, but he felt like he weighed as much as ten men with Jaime hooking his bad arm under Jon’s shoulder to try to keep his head above water. Luckily a skiff was making its way to them then and Jaime had a moment to look toward the valley to survey the damage. Thousands of dead men now poured over the rocks and rubble from the blast. There were still a few thousand soldiers left on the bank. Some were jumping into the water and attempting to swim to the ships themselves. Some were still fighting with all they had left. It was a devastating sight. As five men gripped Jon to haul him and then Jaime into the little boat, Jaime watched as the Night King added several thousand more bodies to his army.

 

“Dany,” Jon rasped, watching her lower lip tremble and the memories of what happened before the fall coming back to him. “I’m sorry,” he got out. “I’m so sorry.” But Dany merely shook her head, an apology not necessary. 

“You came back. That’s all that matters. You’re home.”

“Dragonstone?” Jon asked, not noticing his surroundings. 

Dany’s face split into a watery smile as she watched the lack of realization on his face. “You want to go back to Dragonstone?”

“Where are we?” he asked, utterly confused. 

“We’re in Winterfell. Sansa said this was your old room.” Jon looked around but didn’t recognize anything in the room except for his armor and Longclaw, rested up against the wall near the fireplace. 

“Winterfell?” They were last beyond The Wall. Winterfell was ages from The Wall. His heart started to hammer in panic. 

“You’ve been out for two weeks,” Dany explained, reading his thoughts. “Jaime said you hit your head on the rocks when you fell. For a short while, Maester Wolkan wasn’t sure you would make it. I was so scared, Jon,” Dany choked, one hand gripping his, one hand gripping her belly.  _ Her belly! _

“Dany,” Jon blurted, his spare hand reaching for her belly as well. She wore a simple nightgown as it was currently dark outside and it seemed her belly had grown exponentially since the last time he had seen her, before they had gone beyond The Wall. 

“I’ve been so stupid,” she confessed, covering his hand with her own over the protrusion. “Everyone kept trying to tell me. Missandei finally slapped some sense into me. And Maester Wolkan confirmed it. I’m sorry for being so reckless. I love you so much.” She leaned into him, tears slipping down her face and onto his as their foreheads met. Gods it felt so good to be near her again. Jon breathed hard, hand slipping behind her neck to hold her to him posessively. “But Jon, I…I want you to know,” she began, sniffling and pulling away from him. “This…I don’t know if this will go the way we want.” She gestured to her belly. “It might not…we might not get to…”

“I know Dany,” he whispered, pulling her close again. “But until something bad happens, which we’ve no guarantee right now it will, how about we just…act as if we don’t think anything bad will happen?” He gave her a small smile and she returned it with a reluctant nod. “Hey Dany, if we’re in Winterfell…are Arya and Sansa here? What about Bran?” Jon didn’t know why but at his words, Dany’s mouth popped open and she let out a little gasp. “What?” Jon demanded. They had to be okay. He had seen Arya board the skiff. Sansa had stayed behind at Eastwatch. Bran was supposedly being watched over on a ship by Yara. Nothing should have happened to them. They should all be okay.

“Everyone’s fine,” Dany got out in a rush to reassure him. “But Jon…while you were still healing…Bran. He…he told us…he has something important…you need to speak with him.” Jon looked around. It had to be late. Dany had little purple bags under her eyes and he wanted to squirm, not liking she probably hadn’t got much sleep since he had been unconscious.

“You tell me,” he urged her not wanting to have to get Bran and wake him. He could talk to him tomorrow. But if it was important he needed to hear it now. If it had to do with defeating the Night King or stopping the army of the dead… 

“Are you sure?” she asked quietly. He nodded. “Jon it…it has to do with…your mother. Bran was able to see…he knows.” Whatever he had been expecting Dany to say, it certainly hadn’t been this.  _ His mother? _ Jon’s breathing increased and his heart hammered in his chest. All these years. All this time. His father had never told him. Had there been a reason for that? Was Jon better off not knowing the truth? But he couldn’t consider those possibilities. This mystery had plagued him his entire life. Whatever Ned’s reasons for never telling him, Jon suddenly didn’t care. He had to know.

“Who is she?”                

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't think of anything for a predictive FAQ so if you guys have questions, let me know in the comments. Also thanks to everyone also reading Across the Sea. I had planned to update that today too but looks like it will be tomorrow as it's late CA time :D


	24. Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran tells Dany some disturbing news. Jon gets some visitors while he recovers. The Lords of the North who fought for Ramsay are dealt with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN UPDATE! Thanks again to everyone reading. This chapter's a bit fluff fluff but hope you like. Comments and (polite) criticism always appreciated. Update to AtS coming this weekend as well for all those reading.

_Dany’s fingers clung tightly to Ghost’s fur as they both watched young Brandon beneath the weirwood tree. She had come out here to ask him more about Jon’s past and the circumstances of his birth. Jon was still healing in bed and hadn’t sought out anyone since she had told him the truth. But Brandon was now motionless as he sat in his wheeled chair beneath the tree, eyes milk white as if his irises had just disappeared completely._

_Ghost gave a twitch and Brandon jerked out of his trance, eyes quickly finding Daenerys’s, his breathing unnaturally heavy._

_“Dany,” he began and she didn’t dare ask him how he knew to call her that. “It was me. I’m so sorry. Your father. It was me.”_

 

_“Aerys?” Jon repeated dully and Dany nodded, watching him worriedly. Though she suspected his wounds were fully healed now, he hadn’t yet left the room, she suspected so he wouldn’t have to speak to anyone. Many had called on him to visit and check on his wellbeing but so far he had refused everyone save Dany, Ghost, and Davos. He wouldn’t even allow his sisters to see him._

_“Yes,” Dany began slowly, hating how his eyes seemed devoid of everything she had once loved about him. “He said...well it was him and it wasn’t him. The previous three-eyed-raven. But they’re one person,_ entity _? I can’t exactly remember how Bran phrased it. But he said Brynden Rivers, the other greenseer, he had tried to go back, knowing what was coming for us. He tried to tell my father about the walkers. That the only way they could be killed would be to--”_

_“‘Burn them all’?” Jon finished for her, finally looking up with some hint of interest on his face._

_“Yes,” Dany answered. She had told him of her father’s madness, all the terrible stories she had heard from Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime._ He kept saying the same thing he had been saying for hours. “Burn them all.”

 _“I’m sorry,” Jon told her, his eyes going dead again._ What was he thinking? _she wondered. What could possibly be going through his mind at this moment? But he wasn’t completely unaffected she noticed. Though his face looked devoid of all emotion, much like Bran, his fingers twitched and picked at the nails. He felt_ something _at this news. Then it hit her. Aerys was Jon’s grandfather as well. He was his relation, his blood. And he had killed Jon’s other grandfather, Rickard Stark. While Dany had felt some relief at the news Bran had given her, thinking that perhaps the “Targaryen madness” was just some horrible talked up rumor, she hadn’t thought about how Jon would take it and to her great irritation, instead of having any kind of reaction to the news, he simply looked as if he didn’t care, about her, about anything. And it frustrated her to no end._

 

Jon couldn’t remember how many days had passed since he had woken up. Since he had finally found out the _truth._ But he couldn’t see anyone. Couldn’t talk to anyone. Half of him didn’t even want Dany around to see him in such a pathetic state but she was also the only person he craved silent company with, his arm around her warm weight and the reassuring bulge of his child in her belly filling him with a specific kind of peace that finding out Rhaegar was his true father couldn’t take away from him.

About a week after waking from his coma, Jon watched Daenerys undress from her thick winter coat, breeches, and woolen slip. They hadn’t made love since before taking down Ramsay’s troops. They hadn’t really even spoken, at least not long drawn out conversations. But the sight of her swollen belly and taught dark pink nipples stirred him and he had thrown the covers off of him and had his arms wrapped around her before she could even process what was happening. His bruised ribs and aching muscles protested but Jon ignored it and devoured her mouth, delighting in the way her belly brushed his torso and he had to lean in to do it. He could tell she was surprised by his sudden attack but now that he had her, now that he could smell her and feel the heat of her skin soaking into him, he knew he couldn’t let her go. Not tonight. “Bed,” he rasped pulling away just long enough to say the word and she gave a sigh of pleasure and relief, leaping and wrapping her arms and legs around him in answer.

Jon carried her to the bed and lay her down amongst the firs, mouth never leaving hers, taking all that she had to give. He reached a hand down to check she was ready for him. As much as he loved teasing her, loved tasting her, hearing her little sighs of delight as he pleasured her, he couldn’t wait. He needed her _now_ and luckily she was hot and slick, needing nothing to aid him in taking her. Quickly scooping up the pillows from the head of the bed, he stuffed them under her hips for better access, as her growing belly was now prominent enough to present a challenge. Once Dany was propped up and her legs spread and ankles resting on his shoulders to receive him, Jon plunged into her, reveling in the tight fit, her inner walls squeezing his cock perfectly.

Dany gripped the headboard with one hand and brought the other up to her breast, palming it and tweaking the nipple, her head thrown back, eyes closed and mouth open in a silent moan as Jon pumped into her. Watching her pleasure herself, seeing how her toes curled, her feet slipping down to his chest, Jon could barely control himself. She was so beautiful and looked so... _ripe._ He pushed her hand out of the way, wanting to do it for her, wanting to make her shriek and squirm. Her feet slipped off his chest and onto either side of him and Jon took full advantage, leaning in to take a nipple in his mouth and sucked. _Gods,_ it felt so good, she _tasted_ so good, her skin a tangy salt flavor from the sweat of the day but something sweet too, something distinctly _Dany_ that he could never get enough of. She cried aloud and her fingers tugged his loose locks and he knew she was close to falling apart. He slowed his thrusts and pushed into her deeper, more deliberately, knowing it was exactly what she needed to finally tumble over the edge. Moving his mouth to the other nipple and pinching the first between his thumb and forefinger, he felt Dany tighten around him, legs clamping hard around his hips, fingers digging into his scalp. Her back arched off the bed and she cried his name, coming hard underneath him. As she panted and groaned, lost in sensation, Jon sped up his thrusts, seeking the same agonizing pleasure, delighting in Dany’s face twisted in ecstasy, knowing she was now extra sensitive from her own climax. _“Jon,”_ Dany groaned, hands slithering around his neck and their eyes locked, violet into dark grey. _“Come in me, come for me Jon,”_ she begged and that was all it took. Just minutes after her climax, Jon’s eyes clenched shut and with a series of feral grunts, he filled her with his hot seed and collapsed into her embrace.

They lay wrapped in each other for some time, their breaths slowing, neither making an effort to move. Jon closed his eyes and inhaled her scent deeply, nothing else in the world making him feel more at peace than that. Inevitably, lying in Dany’s arms, her breasts pillowing his cheek, her belly amusingly in the way, he began to think about Lyanna. There was no way to describe this emotion. No way to categorize what he was feeling. On the one hand, the biggest question of his entire life had been answered. He _knew_ her name. His mother. And she had _loved_ him. She had _wanted_ him. She had made her brother swear to her on her deathbed that he would keep him safe no matter what. But then that in itself was complicated. Jon had always felt some sort of responsibility and shame for being the one dark mark on the honorable Eddard Stark’s reputation. Now Jon knew the truth, that Ned had never been unfaithful to his lady wife. But at the same time, the very thing that made Jon love and admire the man so much, just made it that much more painful to accept the new reality: Ned Stark was not his father.

Jon sighed and turned on his side, Dany spooning him from behind as best she could with her belly bumping against his back. “Don’t ever do that to me again,” Dany whispered deadly serious. Jon turned to face her, stunned.

“Do what?” he asked confused.

“Don’t retreat into yourself like that. Don’t shut people out. Especially the people who love you.” He let out another frustrated sigh, not wanting to talk about this. He still hadn’t figured out who he thought he was or who he wanted to be and he didn’t want to see anyone until he did. Maybe never. “Jon, I’m serious,” she went on sitting up and he followed her knowing there was no way to escape this without leaving the room which he wanted to do even less. “Your brothers and sisters have been so worried. Everyone has. Davos, Tyrion, Tormund, Jorah, Theon, Sam, _Tyene,”_ she said with a hint of irritation making Jon roll his eyes. _“Yara,”_ she added and he could see the hint of a smile on her face. “Even Sandor and Bronn. And Jaime’s been wanting to see you too. He _was_ the one who jumped in and saved you after all.”

“I know,” Jon admitted uncomfortably, not wanting to think about it. Jaime was a member of the Kingsguard during the rebellion. Jaime knew Rhaegar. _Protect the King,_ he had said during the battle against Ramsay. Had he known the whole time? Had Rhaegar said something to Jaime? Had he too, like Ned, kept Jon’s identity secret just so his own family could come into power?

“And you of all people know we’ve got more important things to worry about right now,” she reminded him. “Who cares who your father was? You are Ned Stark’s son. You always have been. And we were to be married anyway. Your child will be the heir to the Iron Throne. You are my king and we will rule Westeros together. We will save Westeros together. And you don’t need to worry about anything more than that.”      

“Can we just go to sleep, Dany?” Jon asked, not responding to her words but feeling truly exhausted. She sighed, her eyes shooting up to the ceiling and she looked about to make some smart remark to end their conversation on, likely something that would make Jon feel guilty for his behavior of late, but her brow suddenly furrowed in confusion. “What is it?” Jon asked reluctantly.

Dany blinked a few times, her expression softening, Jon looking on having no idea what was going on. “Dany?” he prodded but she shook her head, eyes welling with tears and she silently grabbed his hand and placed it on her belly. Underneath his fingertips Jon could feel the tiniest of flutters, something very small, but very certainly, pushing against his hand.

Jon’s breath caught. His heart slammed against his rib cage. His throat tightened painfully. He met Dany’s eyes. She was smiling and crying, then lifted a hand to his face to wipe the tears he hadn’t even realized were falling. Jon laughed and sniffled, splaying both hands on Daenerys’s belly, feeling for those little ripples again. “That’s our child,” he whispered in awe. Dany bit her bottom lip and nodded. “That’s our child,” she echoed. They kissed again both their faces wet and the rest of their night was spent in sweet embrace.

 

The next morning however, was not so pleasant.

“So it appears Missandei won’t be needing to take your balls after all,” Jon huffed, not at all enthusiastic about this visit and greatly resenting Dany for pushing it on him. Jaime gave him a tight smile as if this were meant to be a friendly encounter but Jon felt otherwise. “Tell me one thing,” he went on when Jaime just stared at him, not speaking. “D-did you know...the whole time?” he got out quietly, voice almost breaking as he spoke. _Protect the king,_ the sparring match, all his little conversations with Daenerys. He had to have known. Or at least suspected... _something._

“I didn’t know,” Jaime finally admitted, meeting Jon’s gaze. “I never _knew_ , until we got back here and your brother told us all. Once I joined you lot in King’s Landing though, the queen began asking me questions. Questions about her brother. Questions about the Rebellion. Questions no one had ever thought to ask before and questions I certainly didn’t have the answers to. But I got to wondering. It was an insane idea. Like something the singers would write songs about. A Northern bastard the secret heir to the throne? Madness. A theory that didn’t really hold water. Yet…I couldn’t shake it. The more I looked at you, watched you, saw you interact with those around you, the more you reminded me of him.” Jon looked away. _Him._ _Him_ was his father. _Him_ was Rhaegar Targaryen _._ His whole life had been a lie. _The Bastard of Winterfell._ Was that who he was? Was he the Prince That Was Promised? Was he…Aegon Targaryen, rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms? _I was already to be King of the Seven Kingdoms,_ he thought, remembering his conversation with Dany last night after they finished making love for the first time. In the end, did it matter? Did any of it matter anyway? “But up until Bran arrived, I thought my suspicions would only ever be that. I think the queen was thinking of bringing it up with you before Bran told us but--”

“I wouldn’t have believed her,” Jon told him distantly, wishing Jaime would just leave. “Thank you, by the way,” he thought to add as he knew it would have been rude not to. “Thank you for saving me.”

Jaime nodded. “Your fa--Rhaegar, the last time we spoke. He left me behind in King’s Landing to protect his family while he went off to battle Robert on the Trident. I failed him. I won’t fail him again.” Jon swallowed hard as Jaime quitted the room wishing he could just keep on think of Rhaegar Targaryen as Daenerys’s brother and his aunt Lyanna’s husband. But that was a lie. Jon had never been fond of lies…

 

“Well, could be worse,” Davos said, sitting at Jon’s bedside, handing Jon a flask of what Jon knew wasn’t wine or ale. He drank it anyway, the alcohol burning his throat but warming him on it’s way down.

“How could it be worse?” Jon asked with a cough, then taking another sip.

“She could have been your sister.”

Jon choked. Davos simply laughed as Jon coughed trying to get the liquid out of his lungs. He glared at Davos, irritated he would say such a thing. Though, if Jon were being completely honest - which he wasn’t about to be with Davos - it really wouldn’t have mattered. Dany was already carrying his child. He wouldn’t have abandoned her simply because they would have been siblings by blood. But he was still thankful they weren’t.

“Look,” Davos began again. “The way I see it is, nothing has changed.” When Jon opened his mouth about to protest, Davos held up a hand and went on. “Your hair hasn’t magically turned silver, your eyes haven’t gone purple. You don’t suddenly want to go about burning people alive for the fun of it like your grandfather.” Jon winced, realizing he would now have to go about trying to banish all the preconceived notions about Targaryens and madness that Dany always had to deal with. First he was hated for being a bastard. Now he may be hated for being a Targaryen. The rest of his life sounded exhausting.

“You’re still the same little shit you were yesterday...a year ago. You didn’t lose a limb, you didn’t get any taller, unfortunately.” Jon rolled his eyes. “You’re still you. Nothing has changed and nothing need change unless you want it to. That’s the only thing that’s different. You _know_ now. That’s it. I know it’s a lot to take in. A lot to accept. But we’ve got bigger problems than your issues with your father.” Jon huffed, Davos’s words echoing Dany’s from the night before.    

“Now get out of this damn bed already.” He slapped Jon on the leg, stole back his flask of liquor, and left.

 

“Well I think it’s pretty amazing,” Arya was saying that night at dinner, the first Jon had attended with his family since they had arrived back at Winterfell. “I mean, come on. You’re a wolf _and_ a dragon.” Dany gave her a look somewhere between disapproval and agreement. “What?” Arya asked Daenerys. Dany pursed her lips in a half smile and Jon got the distinct feeling that the two must have grown close while he was in a coma. The way they looked at each other and interacted, it was as if they were already sisters. _Sisters!_

“Daenerys and I are getting married,” Jon blurted, suddenly remembering. Sansa, Arya, Rickon, Davos, Jaime, Missandei, Tyrion, and Grey Worm all looked at him curiously but none of them seemed surprised. Bran continued staring off into the distance like always and Jon looked away quickly. It pained him to see his brother in such a state. Last time he had laid eyes on Bran he had been in a coma following his fall. This somehow seemed worse.

“We know,” Sansa said in a much too smug tone for Jon’s taste. She looked to Dany and Jon’s eyes followed hers.

“Well, everyone already knew!” she huffed and Missandei and Davos both too long draughts from their cups of wine, avoiding looking at either Daenerys or Jon. “Not as if we were an easy thing to hide in the first place,” she added, smoothing her dress over her belly with a roll of her eyes.

“You never were very secretive anyway!” Tyrion got out exasperated and Jaime and Grey Worm smirked.

“Well then…” Jon began, “Let’s do it. Let’s get married. Tomorrow.”

“What?” Arya, Sansa, and Missandei said in unison. “We’re not done with Dany’s wedding dress yet,” Sansa added nodding to Missandei.

“What?” Daenerys asked surprised. Sansa blushed and Missandei frowned.

“Sorry, it was supposed to be a surprise. Anyway, we’ll need at least a week.” Jon huffed.

“Why can’t she just get married in the clothes she has?” Jon asked but Dany raised an eyebrow at him.

“We’ve got bigger issues than what the queen’s wardrobe will be when you marry,” Tyrion pointed out with a sharp hit to the table with his fist. Everyone looked to him a little surprised. “The Northern Lords who fought for Ramsay in the battle for the North need to be dealt with. They’ve been sitting in their cells for a week now. We need to figure out what to do with them.”

 

“You Southerners are all a bunch of dumb cunts,” Tormund scolded the Northern lords who had supported Ramsay and Cersei against the Targaryen forces. Jon saw Sandor Clegane give a rare almost smile. Robett Glover and Harald Karstark looked at Tormund with raised chins, not at all happy about being talked to in such a manner by a _wildling._ “That Land-sitter bitch beheaded your lord, and his son. Yet you fought for her anyway.”

“What would you know of it, _wildling?”_ Glover accused.

“He’s more of a true Northman than you are,” Jon spat, part of him wanting to do as Dany suggested and sending them out before the Dragons for roasting. How many men had they lost because of Glover and Karstark and Umber and all the other idiotic Northern lords who had fought for the man whose father killed Robb, the man who raped his sister? Glover turned his gaze to Jon, his expression somehow gaining even more disdain than it had when he was staring at Tormund.

“Might be a bastard, but you’re just like your brother. You think we don’t all know you’ve been fucking that foreign whore?” he accused nodding to Daenerys at Jon’s side. To her credit, Dany merely stared back at him through narrowed eyes, not saying anything. How she could stay so composed in this moment was beyond Jon.

“Just like his brother, you say?” Jaime jumped in. Jon glanced at him, his hand twitching on the pommel of Longclaw. Calling his betrothed a whore. Glover deserved his head on a spike. _“King_ Robb broke his oath to Walder Frey by marrying a woman who was not his betrothed and breaking his vow. He _lost_ the north one of its most powerful allies because of his mistake. His brother—” Jaime motioned to Jon, “brought to the North the most powerful ally you all could  ever have hoped for, along with the remainder of the fighting forces in the Seven Kingdoms.”

Glover spat. “That’s what I think of you Lannister. And your Seven Kingdoms,” he grunted. “At least with Queen Cersei we would have been granted our independence once again. An independent North free from the politics and pompous arseholes of the South.”

“Northern independence?” Jon scoffed, unable to hide a grin of disbelief at such a stupid fucking notion. They knew about the army of the dead. Those who returned from beyond The Wall had _told_ them about the Night King. How with a raise of his hands those that had been killed stood again, now members of a different army. What the fuck were they thinking? “Setting aside, for a moment, the fact that the Boltons and the Lannisters were the two houses that plotted to murder my brother and father, your liege lords that your houses have been sworn to for centuries, how many fighting men do you have at your disposal, Lord Glover? In the entire North? Let’s throw in the women too, for good measure. My sister and Lady Brienne can wield a sword. How many then?” Glover shifted uncomfortably and when Jon looked to Dany she showed no signs of attempting to speak or interrupt. This was now his show and she was letting him take center stage. The corner of her mouth tipped back in approval and it only added to the fire he felt raging inside him. “Alright. You want your _Northern independence_ ,” Jon started again. “Fine. Have it. We’ll go back down south. The Unsullied, the Dothraki, the Dornish, the men from the Riverlands, Stormlands, Westerlands, the Vale, the newly acquired Golden Company thanks to the Greyjoys, even the two remaining dragons. We’ll all leave back down south and leave you to your lands. The North is yours. I think we should even put up a wall at the Neck, separating the two Kingdoms so no one from the south can cross over into your lands ever again. And then you can deal with the Night King and the White Walkers and the army of the dead yourselves. Hmm?”

At Jon’s words Glover and the other lords of the North who had fought for Ramsay shuffled uncomfortably and Jon caught out of the corner of his eye Tyene trying and failing not to silently giggle. Tormund was nodding his head in approval of Jon’s words, knowing first hand what it had cost his people to hold on to their old ways. Sansa and Arya both stood side by side, arms folded over their chests in the corner of the room looking determined and pleased. Jaime, like Tyene was trying hard not to smile but failing. He then turned to Daenerys once more and the look she gave him was almost enough to make him hard right there in the middle of the Great Hall. Like she was thinking about exactly what she would do to him the moment she got him alone. Her tongue darted out briefly, wetting her top lip and Jon wanted to strip her down right there in front of everyone and do all the things he knew would make her cry his name. She looked at him like there was no other man in the world. She looked at him like he was her king. And when Glover and the other lords of the North reluctantly sank to their knees before the both of them, he felt, for the first time in his life, like a king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FAQ:  
> 1) What's up with Rickon? He's alive. He'll play a bit bigger role in the story to come.  
> 2) Who knows about Jon's heritage? Only family and the important players, Jaime, Tyrion, Dadvos, obviously. None of the Northern lords or other lords of Westeros. It's something Jon wants to keep secret right now and after he and Dany marry, knows it won't matter anyway.  
> 3) What do the lords of Westeros know of Jon and Dany's relationship? They know Dany is pregnant with Jon's child and most of them know by the end of the chapter that the two will be married.  
> 4) How far along in her pregnancy is Dany? About 16 weeks.  
> 5) Why haven't we heard anything from the Night King and undead Viserion yet? I'm keeping with ShowCanon timeline. Apparently it takes about 30-40 days to sail from Eastwatch to Dragonstone so between episodes 6&7 that's about how much time passed and then maybe a week before/after the Dragonpit meeting before J&D sailed north and The Wall fell. So, as it stands, it's only been about 3 weeks since Viserion's death in this story so it's totally in canon that The Wall would still be standing at this point. We'll get news of it falling next chapter. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone following the story! I love reading your guys comments. I think we've only got between 5-10 chapters left. I'll try to keep the updates coming more quickly but again, life happens so we'll see. Everything from here on out is basically show timeline for season 8 so it's a little my predictions of what will happen next season based on some of my theories and my favorite theories about the GOT endgame. Hope you like!


	25. Tale of the Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Daenerys speak of the past. Winterfell receives a new visitor. Bran tells a tale.

_A/N Okay guys this is probably the crackest chapter ever (that or I got pretty close to the money, we'll just have to wait and see). But hopefully you guys will catch all the call-backs to previous chapters. I did a shit-ton of research to get all the info here so that's why it took so long to write! Thanks for being patient! Hope you like :D_

 

_ “ _ _ I’ll dress you all in yellow silk, _

_ and on your head a crown. _

_ For you shall be my lady love, _

_ and I shall be your lord. _

_ I’ll always keep you warm and safe, _

_ and guard you with my sword.”  _

Daenerys bit her lip as Jon softly sang to the swell of her belly as they lie in bed together one morning. His fingers danced over her naked skin but as a ripple went through it, he stopped and rested his whole hand on her, utterly fascinated. 

“What’s it feel like?” Jon couldn’t help but ask Dany. He was so entranced by the whole ordeal he was unable to pull his hand away. Their child was kicking again, or rather, to Jon it felt like she was doing somersaults, tumbling over and over again in Daenerys’s womb. He imagined she would be a very active child, like Arya...and like his mother, as he had been told.

Daenerys giggled at his question. “Um, I don’t know. Like there’s a little person in there having a swim?” Jon snorted, unable to imagine the sensation. “I never knew you had such a pretty singing voice,” Dany commented lightly and Jon stiffened. He hadn’t meant to invite a comparison to... _ Rhaegar. _ He had only been in a pleasant mood upon waking and enjoyed talking and singing to their child. “It’s alright if share some characteristics with him, you know that right?” Daenerys whispered. “I bet he sang to you when Lyanna was preg—” Daenerys suddenly stopped talking and Jon looked up to find her brows creased, deep in thought. 

“What?” Jon asked, sitting up. “What is it?”

Dany shook her head. “It’s nothing we didn’t already know. I just thought...remember the vision I told you about? The one I had at the House of the Undying?”

“The one about Robb’s murder?” Jon asked confused.

“No, no the one about Rhaegar.” Daenerys sat up and blinked a few times before continuing. “He was with who I assumed was Elia. She had dark hair but I never saw her face. And they called the baby Aegon. Rhaegar said he was the prince who was promised and that his was the song of ice and fire. But it must have been Lyanna. And you.”

“How could if have been me?” Jon asked, suddenly serious. “Rhaegar was dead by the time my father found my mother and me in Dorne.”

“Not all the visions I had were of the past or a guaranteed future,” Daenerys explained. “I saw...I saw my son. Rhaego, he was, a man grown. He had dark skin like Drogo but silver hair like mine. A city burned behind him,” Daenerys recalled, almost lost in the memory of it. “But he died before he was ever born. So it was just a vision of what could have been. Maybe if Baratheon hadn’t killed my brother on the Trident...the vision of him and Lyanna and you would have been real.” Jon inwardly shuddered at the thought. While he wished dearly that he could have known his mother, he still wanted nothing to do with Rhaegar or the memory of him. “We would have grown up together,” Daenerys said quietly, smiling. Now  _ that _ was an odd thought. “We probably would have been betrothed too, being closest in age,” she mused. Jon gave her a reluctant smile, rolling his eyes and pulling her against him. “I would have loved to see you as a child,” she told him quietly, fingers playing in his curls. “All serious and surly, glowering about.”

“If I had grown up the crown prince’s son, what would I have had to be surly about?” Jon asked humously. 

“Oh you would have been, I know it. Rhaegar was apparently a very serious child. Always studying and in a melancholy mood. You would have been your same broody self.” Jon rolled his eyes and Daenerys pecked him on the lips. “And I probably would have followed you all around the Red Keep trying to cheer you up or make you laugh.”

“Would you now?” Jon closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her breast as she continued to paint the pleasant picture of an impossible past. He knew it was silly to think of such things. But the way Daenerys told it, made him want to listen all the more. 

“I’d probably get into trouble sneaking into your room all the time,” she went on making Jon laugh. 

“Sneaking into my room, hmm? And what would you do when you’d sneak into my room?” he asked, nuzzling her breast, rolling onto his stomach to plant feather light kisses all over her skin. 

“Hmm,” Dany thought for a moment. “Probably play with your hair, tickle you,” she slid her fingers lightly over a spot on Jon’s stomach she knew was incredibly sensitive and he half laughed half grunted against her skin, snatching the hand and hoisting it above her head. “Would you have tried to kiss me, do you think?” Dany asked, her free hand tracing Jon’s lips as he hovered over her. 

“No,” Jon told her honestly. “I was a broody little boy, remember.”

“Well,” Daenerys began, nudging his nose with hers. “I would have kissed you then. I don’t think I would have been able to stand myself if I couldn’t kiss you.” They kissed for real then, no more pretending. They might not have had the childhood’s either of them deserved, but Jon was grateful they had found each other against all odds. Daenerys lay on her side, too tired to fuss with pillows or being on top or crouching on her hands and knees, and slid a leg back over Jon’s hips. Lips still attached her hers, he fitted the head of his cock where it needed to be and thrust up into her, both grunting with the pleasure of it. It was their new norm, lazy love making. Usually only reserved for when they had both had too much to drink, now was a necessity as Dany’s belly continued to grow. But neither minded. It was still wonderful. Jon’s strokes were slow and steady, almost teasingly so but Daenerys had been so sensitive since becoming pregnant, it didn’t matter. As the weak hint of sunlight glinted through the window, Dany’s toes curled and she threw her head back, mouth open in silent release. Jon held her close and pushed deep, letting her body coax his to climax as well. 

Lying there in the afterglow, Jon wondered how many more mornings they would get like this. Could the Night King be defeated quickly? They had wildfire, dragonglass, dragons, nearly all the fighting forces of the entirety of Westeros. Things certainly seemed in their favor. But with the days growing shorter and shorter still, the light weaker and weaker, Jon prayed they could defeat the Night King before he brought the second Long Night and before his and Dany’s child was born.

“What are you thinking about?” Dany asked, wrapped up in his arms. 

Jon sighed and decided to answer her honestly. “Rhaegar. I suppose everything happens for a reason. If we had grown up together I never would have gone to The Wall. You wouldn’t have been in Essos and birthed your dragons. We all would have been helpless. Clueless. Even my father, as great a man as he was, he beheaded a Night’s Watch deserter who claimed he had seen the white walkers.”

“No use dwelling on thoughts like that. We’re here. We’ve got our armies, the dragonglass, the dragons. We will win. We  _ will,”  _ Daenerys emphasized, Jon wasn’t sure to convince him or to convince herself. 

“I wish my father were here to tell me what to do,” Jon confessed to her quietly. “Sometimes I feel like a fraud. Like I’m leading these people and commanding armies and I don’t really know what I’m doing. I just want to ask him if I’m doing everything right. Still feel like a child sometimes.” Dany nodded, brushing his hair with her fingers. 

“I wish I could have met him,” she sighed, leaning in to give him a kiss. But just as Jon was about to say he wished she could have too, he was struck by a thought. His stomach gave a nervous little flip. A part of him wanted to put the thought away and never say it out loud, never go back down there again. But aside from seeing his father’s resting place - which had been recently honored with a statue in his likeness while Jon was in his coma - he also had to see  _ her _ . Now that he knew the truth. It was the only way he would ever be able to look upon her face. 

“I want you to come with me somewhere,” Jon told her, settling his resolve. Dany smiled seeming to read his thoughts, and nodded. 

 

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dany reminded him, rubbing his arm comfortingly. Jon’s throat was tight. It was just like in his dreams. Standing before the door that led down to the crypts. He knew he had to go down there. But the dread and unease was thick in the pit of his stomach. Last time he had been in the crypts was before he left for the Night’s Watch. Before everything. Before the  _ truth _ .

Dany searched his face for an answer but Jon simply shook his head and opened the door. He took Dany by the hand and they followed the winding spiral steps down to where his family rested. 

After a few minutes of walking, Jon reached the most recent Starks to be buried here. His grandfather Rickard, his uncle Brandon. Jon stopped right before he reached her, not sure if he could go on. But when Dany rested a reassuring hand lightly on his shoulder, he took it, gave it a quick kiss, and finally moved to stand face to face with the memory of a ghost.

Without warning, silent tears suddenly streamed down Jon’s face.  _ This _ was his mother. Her name was Lyanna Stark. Beautiful she-wolf, like Arya, according to the few stories he’d heard of her. She lost her life to bring him into the world. But she had lived long enough to name him. She made her brother swear to protect him. She had loved him. 

Dany pressed closer and rubbed his back comfortingly. All this time, and she had been  _ right here. _ How many times had Jon walked passed this very statue, sometimes paying it no mind, sometimes with his father dutifully paying respects to a woman he thought was his aunt. It didn’t feel fair. A question he had asked his whole life, the one thing he had always wanted, more so than even being a trueborn Stark, and she had been hidden right in front of his very eyes. Maybe a part of him knew something of the truth all along, his dreams trying to get him to see it. He thought of Ygritte then.  _ You know nothing, Jon Snow _ . Oh how right she had been. Jon felt as if he knew nothing at all. 

“It’s strange,” Jon whispered finally, not trusting his voice not to break if he spoke any louder. 

“What is?” Dany asked gently.

“How can you love someone so much when you haven’t even met them?” Jon had always loved his mother, nameless woman existing somewhere out in the cosmos, alive or dead. He had always felt some part of her with him. But now that he knew her name, knew the circumstances of his birth and her death, he loved her infinitely more.

“I don’t know,” Daenerys mused. “But it’s a pretty easy thing to do, I think.” She took his hand and placed it over her belly, the little being inside giving his hand a firm kick. He gave Dany a half smile and nodded, eyes returning to Lyanna. What he wouldn’t have given in that moment to ensure their child was brought into the world, into the light of the morning after the downfall of the Night King, safe and healthy and whole. Maybe he would even have traded his knowledge of his mother to ensure it. And that very strange thought in that moment put everything into perspective for Jon. It didn’t matter what his parents had done some twenty odd years ago. They were his parents and they had loved him, Ned, Lyanna, and...Rhaegar. They couldn’t have controlled the events of the Rebellion or the Mad King’s actions anymore than Jon could control the Night King and the army of the dead. But after things were set in motion, the three of them had done all they could to keep Jon safe. And for that, Jon was grateful.

“Let’s go,” he told Dany quietly, and together they ascended the steps, leading back up to the daylight.

When they walked through the courtyard moments later, Davos and Grey Worm found them. “We’ve got a visitor from Greywater Watch,” Davos told them carefully. 

“They say they want to speak to you,” Grey Worm reported. “Privately.”

“Greywater Watch?” Daenerys asked curiously. “I thought all the lords from near The Neck were already here? They helped the Dothraki and the Westerland forces through the marches before we defeated Ramsay and secured Moat Cailin.”   

“Not Howland Reed,” Jon muttered darkly.    

“It’s not Howland Reed,” Davos answered. 

  
  
  


“Lady Meera,” Jon began, “We’re happy to receive you here at Winterfell.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Meera said with a bow. Jon tried his best not to cringe at the title or the gesture. Bran had told him all of Meera and Jojen and their time together. And about their father, Howland Reed. The only man alive who had been there in Dorne the day of Jon’s birth. Lord Reed hadn’t accompanied his daughter to Winterfell and though Jon was curious as to why, he was glad of it. After his father’s death in King’s Landing, Reed never sought Jon out. Never thought to tell him his true identity even though Reed  _ knew _ he was the only man in the world who could tell Jon the truth, at least, up until Bran became the Three-Eyed-Raven. Jon wasn’t sure what he would do if he ever met Howland Reed. But he was certain, given his feelings about the matter were still fresh and raw, it wouldn’t be a pleasant encounter.

“What brings you this far North, my lady? Bran said once you had seen him safely to the Riverlands, you left for Greywater Watch to be with your family. Why come back?” Jon asked, taking a seat at his desk and encouraging Meera to sit opposite him. 

“My father isn’t at Greywater Watch anymore, Your Grace,” Meera explained, making Jon’s heart skip a beat. “He’s in the Riverlands, on the Isle of Faces.”

“Why?” Jon pressed, now genuinely curious. The Isle of Faces seemed an odd place for anyone to be normally, but especially now with winter come and the great threat of the Others beyond The Wall. Meera knew of the Others as she had fought them to keep Bran safe. Surely she would have told her father of the threat as well?

“He’s...he’s with the order of the green men,” she explained, somewhat cryptically, Jon thought. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she continued. “He knows Bran is the Three-Eyed-Raven now and that he can see anything he wishes but...Bran’s gift is difficult for him to control, I know. He can’t see things without knowing where to look. My father went to seek out the green men to...help.”

“To try to find something, some way to defeat the Night King and the army of the dead?” Meera nodded. “Well then,” Jon breathed, thrown by her admission. What could the green men know about the Night King that could possibly help them? “But that doesn’t answer the question of why you’re here, my lady,” Jon pointed out. “Why not stay in Greywater Watch?”

“When you and the queen defeated the Bolton army and returned here to Winterfell, I knew I had to come. I have something for her. For Daenerys.”

 

Jon and Dany looked on somewhat apprehensive as Meera bent over her trunk, shifting clothing carefully out of the way and then finally pulling out a long thin package wrapped in wool and twine. 

“I took this from Bloodraven’s cave when we went beyond The Wall. Brynden Rivers. He was in the Night’s Watch, Lord Commander, before he disappeared. Bastard son of Aegon IV.”

“Legitimized bastard,” Daenerys corrected her, taking the package from Meera’s hands. Meera glanced quickly at Jon and nodded.

“I took it for protection. I didn’t have a sword. I didn’t realize what it was until we got south of The Wall. But it belongs with House Targaryen again,” Meera explained as Daenerys untied what Jon realized was a Valyrian steel sword. 

“Meera is t-this…” Jon stutterd a moment. “Is this  _ Dark Sister?” _ he asked incredulously. Meera nodded solemnly. “This was the sword wielded by Prince Aemon Targaryen, the Dragonknight,” he explained to Dany, taking the sword carefully to examine it, point to hilt. “And Visenya Targaryen. She’s one of Arya’s favorites. Meera this is…” 

“I’m not a swordswoman, Lady Reed,” Daenerys began, taking the sword from Jon. “Are you sure?” 

“I’m no good with a sword either. I prefer a bow. If your smith can make me a couple quivers of arrows of dragonglass, I’ll be much better off than with a stolen sword,” Meera explained sheepishly.

“You didn’t steal it,” Daenerys reassured her. “You saved it. Thank you Meera.” Quite uncharacteristically, Daenerys reached for the girl and pulled her into a quick but heartfelt hug which Meera returned gratefully. “We should be getting to the great hall,” Daenerys reminded Jon. “Bran wanted to meet with us all, remember?”

 

Jon stared at Bran open mouthed, not quite sure how to go about saying what he knew he needed to say. Especially with everyone in the room - his family, his and Daenerys’s advisors, and a select few lords and ladies and some of their top military personnel. But he had to say it. He had to know. “Bran...when we were on Dragonstone, I dreamt that—that Queen Daenerys pulled a shard of dragonglass out of my heart. I dreamt it several times actually,” he added, incredibly aware that now everyone’s eyes were on him. 

“You knew how the children made the white walkers before Bran told us?” Dany asked incredulous. 

“It makes sense,” Bran said listlessly. “Targaryens are known to have prophetic dreams.” Jon’s jaw clenched. He still didn’t like being referred to as a  _ Targaryen.  _ He hadn’t even wanted anyone to know of his true heritage but somehow word had gotten out. He knew many of the lords of the Westeros didn’t believe the story but it was just as well. He and Daenerys would be married in a few days time anyway and he would be their king regardless. But whenever Jon was reminded of being Targaryen and he got irritated about it, it always made him feel guilty too because he had fallen in love with another Targaryen. And his child would be a Targaryen. Then, coming out of his daze, Jon suddenly realized exactly what Bran was saying. “Wait, Bran,  _ prophetic? _ You mean I’m going to—”

“You won’t turn into the new Night King,” Bran said monotone. “At least, I don’t think you will. I see large parts of the past if I know where to look. I’ve only ever gotten flashes of the future and none of is comprehensible. I just meant, it makes sense you would have known how the Night King was created before I told you.” Jon breathed out a sigh of relief. “He was a Stark himself, after all.”

“WHAT?” nearly every person in the Winterfell great hall gasped at once. 

“Bran, what do you mean the Night King was a Stark?” Arya asked once the initial shock of her brother’s words wore off. “Starks have been around that long?”

“Bran the Builder was a Stark,” Sam reminded her. “That was thousands of years ago.”

“The Night King was his great great grandfather,” Bran mentioned, as if this news was nothing shocking. 

“Grandfather?” Sam and Jon said at once. Jon shook his head, trying to fathom so much information at once. “Bran,” Sam started again, taking an empty notebook, ink, and quill from the satchel at his side. “You need to tell us everything you know. About the Night King. The Long Night, everything. And in order, if it’s not too much trouble.” Bran took in a deep breath, his face still waxen. And he began to tell them all everything he knew of the story of the first Long Night.

 

_ He was a man unlike other men, possessing the ability to join souls with animals and see flashes of the future, as some of the Children did. That was why he was chosen. His animal was a direwolf, great black beast with fire-red eyes. It was while the man was inhabiting the skin of his wolf that the Children took him. Upon his waking, the Children tied him to the trunk of a weirwood tree, the most sacred of places, and pushed a thin piece of obsidian into the man’s heart.  _

_ The changes were immediate. His eyes swiftly turning from light gray to ice blue, his skin becoming milk white and cold to the touch. With the new magical material inhabiting his body, the Night King now had powers the Children only ever dreamed of. He could raise the dead with a lift of his arms, giving the Children the army they so needed to defeat the evil that was man. It was the single objective they gave him,  _ **_kill man_ ** _. And that was their worst mistake of all. _

_ It wasn’t long before the Children lost control of their creation, the Night King unleashing his terror upon the world, now not only seeking to kill man, but to kill any living thing he happened upon. The only defences man and Children had against the dead were fire, and, the very thing that had been used to create their living weapon in the first place: obsidian. Obsidian would end walkers and wights. But when his living brother attempted to slay the Night King with a dagger of obsidian, the glass simply shattered into a million tiny frozen pieces. The obsidian created him. It could not be used to destroy him. _

_ But, as evil rose in the West of the World, to the East so rose the light. It was during the first Long Night that dragons breathed fire and sang their songs for the first time. For no power can be without its equal opposite. Night, Day. West, East. Dark, Light. Ice, Fire.  _

_ Sensing the rise of the light on the other side of the world, the Night King turned his brother and froze the sea, sending him West - so far West that West became East - with a host of the undead, to find and defeat their great fire-breathing enemy. _

_ But the dragons, so new in their existence, and bold, and as of yet, untamable, could not be rallied to defeat the great ice evil. In the cold and darkness, the new dragons died just as kings died in their castles and peasants died in their hovels. The only dragons to survive the Long Night nestled themselves in the Fourteen Flames of Valyria and there, they slumbered. _

_ But the newborn dragons were not without their uses. Inspired by the fire they breathed, a simple smith called Azor Ahai from the land of Asshai set to work, attempting to capture flames in steel. Obsidian was a fine weapon against the ice monsters, but brittle. If he could only find a way to bind the obsidian with steel, Azor Ahai knew man would stand a chance and be able to bring back the sun.  _

_ The smith worked tirelessly, never sure how long he had been at his practice, having no daylight to distinguish his days apart. But after a fashion, he discovered the secret. All magic came with a price and that price was blood. The new creation, stronger than Obsidian but lighter and sharper than normal steel, Azor Ahai called dragonsteel, for the creatures that had inspired him. With a host of the finest warriors of the land, Azor Ahai pushed the ice demons back and back and back, north and north and north. Finally, when they reached a sea red as blood, the enemy was defeated. The dead all dead once more, their corpses burning. And seven heroes still stood, Azor Ahai included, each carrying a weapon made by the clever smith, made of dragonsteel.  _

_ The last of the enemy to be killed was an ice man, the Night King’s brother. He spoke in a language the heroes could not understand, voice like crackling glass. There was nothing at all extraordinary about the ice man other than his pale skin and deep blue eyes. Nothing at all except...upon the pommel of his ice sword, there was engraved the head of a great wolf.  _

_ It was their only clue.  _

_ After the ice man was slain, the cold let up just a bit. The night was not as dark but still could not be considered ‘day’ and the winter chill, though milder, could not be considered “turned spring.”  _

_ And so the remaining seven heroes travelled to the only part of the world they knew such wolves existed - West. They went as far west as west could go and when they met the sea, they sailed further west still until they reached a land that had been ravaged by the ice beasts and the dead. A few of the heroes fell in this new land but when they did, another man native to the land would take up his sword. Azor Ahai made more dragonsteel swords for the great warriors of the new land and together, they pushed the dead further and further North. The Night King knew his army was lost. Man had grown too clever, setting aflame bodies of those who fell so he could not raise them again. They could not beat  _ him.  _ But he would have nothing left to fight with. So, agreeing to a pact with the humans, the Night King retreated as far north as north went, taking with him his few remaining fellow ice warriors and in the frozen north he waited…   _

Sam set down his quil and flexed his hand, the appendage popping in several places. Jon stared at Bran dumbstruck, trying to make sense of it all. Daenerys sat with her hand clutching her belly protectively, eyes wide but unfocused. Sansa and Arya looked about the room wide-eyed. The room at large seemed to be just as overwhelmed as Jon felt. But of course it made sense. Davos had worked it out and told him on the ship to King’s Landing before Cersei blew up the city.  _ Azor Ahai didn’t defeat the walkers. They’re still around. They just disappeared for a few thousand years. _ And now  _ they _ had to deal with them.

“Seven warriors,” Daenerys mused, finally breaking the awkward silence following Bran’s tale. “And Azor Ahai was...so was he the prince who was promised or was he just a smith?”

“Smith?” Jon echoed, something tugging at the back of his memories. His dreams on Dragonstone.  _ “Smith? _ As in... _ The Seven?” _ he asked Bran, the pieces slowly coming together. At his words, Daenerys gasped and Jon’s heartbeat picked up to an uncomfortable pace when Bran nodded. “‘There are no gods,’” Jon breathed, the words dream-Daenerys had said to him months ago. 

“‘Just us,’” the real Daenerys finished for him. So she had seen it too. 

“What do you mean there are no gods?” Sansa demanded, her beautiful face creased with worry. “What do the gods have to do with the Others?”

“Don’t you see?” Arya asked her, working it out in her own mind. “Azor Ahai was the  _ Smith. _ His other companions, the survivors who came to Westeros, must have been the inspiration for the other new gods as well. Father,  _ Smith, _ Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” she rattled off. “But...if the legend says Azor Ahai will come again, does that mean the other seven will as well?”

Again, Bran nodded. “Every religion of the world is based on this part of our history. The Drowned God of the ironborn is based on the figure of the Warrior, his foe the Storm God based on the Night King as he is the one who brings the storm. The Horse God of the Dothraki is also based on the Warrior. Mother Rhoyne of the Rhoynar is based on the figure of the Mother. The Many-Faced-God of the Faceless Men is based on the figure of the Stranger. The Great Shepherd of the Lhazareen is based on the figure of the Father. All of them are some iteration of the original seven heroes or the Night King himself. The Lion of the Night of the people of Yi Ti is based on the Night King—”

“Lion of the Night?” Jaime interrupted. The hairs on Jon’s arm stood on end as Jaime spoke though he couldn’t quite place why. But sensing the trail of Jaime’s thoughts, Bran explained.

“It’s why she was taken.”  _ Fuck. _ “He needed a queen. Cersei was anointed, a Lion of Lannister, and she was pregnant. It couldn’t have gone better for the Night King when Cersei and her troops landed beyond The Wall.” Jon saw Jaime’s jaw clench and his eyes brim with tears. 

“Why did he need a queen? Why did she need to be pregnant?” Daenerys asked, her clutch on her belly tightening more. Sam shook out his hand and went back to scribbling.

“Before The Wall, direwolves roamed everywhere all over Westeros. The Children never bothered them and lived in harmony with them. The direwolf’s only predator and enemy were the lions of the Western Hills before Casterly Rock was ever built. Normally the two animals would avoid each other but when they crossed paths, the encounter would always end in the death of one of them. Then The Wall went up and both were hunted into extinction south of The Wall. But the two joining forces...it makes a formidable team.”

“What does this have to do with my sister?” Jaime demanded.

“The child she’ll give birth to,” Bran went on, unfazed by Jaime’s tone. “It will be the first Other to be  _ born _ and not  _ turned. _ After that there will never be need for humans again.” Noticing the anguished look on Jaime’s face, Bran added, “It won’t be your child Ser Jaime. It wasn’t from the moment he pushed the dragonglass into her heart.”

“Does she, would she know me if she saw me?” Jaime asked. Bran shook his head. 

“Do we know who the Seven warriors are?” Lyanna Mormont piped up, Jon sensed as a distraction. He was actually surprised it had taken her this log to speak. Since meeting the young she-bear, Jon had found her quite intimidating.

“Could be anyone,” Bran said uninterested. 

“People with Valyrian steel swords?” Edmure Tully offered as a guess and Jon’s hand immediately went to the pommel of Longclaw. He noticed Brienne and Jaime do the same with the two halves of his father’s old sword Ice. 

“There are only three of us with swords though,” Brienne pointed out. 

“Four,” Daenerys spoke up. “Meera Reed brought me Brynden Rivers’ sword, Visenya Targaryen’s old sword, Dark Sister. It was one of the ancestral swords of  _ our _ house.” Jon couldn’t help but notice the way Daenerys emphasized the “our” in her sentence, meaning herself and him. He ignored the comment instead smiling at the way Arya’s eyes lit up upon hearing mention of her favorite heroine. 

“Five actually. If daggers count,” Arya spoke up, unsheathing a very elaborately decorated dagger from her belt and handing it carefully to Jon. “Littlefinger gave it to Bran when he got to the Riverlands and Bran gave it to me.” Jon nodded, handing it back to her. 

“Five is better than none,” Gendry huffed. “At least until Sam and I crack the secret to Valyrian steel. We had already guessed it had to do with dragonglass and blood. Just haven’t found the proper technique.”

“Six,” Sam corrected. “I still have my family’s sword  _ Heartsbane.” _ Everyone was quiet for a moment when Harry Strickland, Lord Commander of the Golden Company, spoke up. 

“Seven,” he sighed, appearing to think for a beat before unsheathing the sword at his belt. “It’s been quietly passed down from Lord Commander to Lord Commander since the company’s founding by Aegor Rivers. It was tradition long before you were ever even conceived,” he nodded to Daenerys. “And I don’t plan on returning it to House Targaryen. My queen,” he added respectfully and gave a bow. Daenerys raised an eyebrow at him but nodded. 

“Is that Blackfyre?” Arya asked mesmerized. Harry gave her a reluctant smile. “A whole month and a half from Myr to the frozen North and you never told me you had that.” Gendry looked between the two disapprovingly and Jon couldn’t help but agree. Arya spending so much time with an older man, one she clearly had had some talks with other than business and battle strategy didn’t sit well with Jon. How old was Arya now?  _ Old enough,  _ a sky voice at the back of Jon’s head whispered. He ignored it. For now. 

“Seven swords. Seven warriors,” Theon said unnecessarily. “So who’s who?” he raised a chin to Bran in question.

“What does it matter?” Rickon spoke for the first time during the entire meeting. “It’s not just you seven with swords that have to fight the Others. We’ll  _ all _ be fighting them. We all have to protect each other. Protect the realm.”

“Rickon’s right,” Bran agreed. “We need to worry about preparing. Nothing else is as important as that.” 

There was a murmur of consent around the hall. Nothing mattered but the fight ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q&A!  
> 1) Is it all as simple as 7 swords, 7 heroes? Of course not. Why would I make it that simple? :D  
> 2) Where's Baelish? In the Vale, biding his time.  
> 3) When will Jon and Dany get married? Next chapter.  
> 4) Is all that history stuff true? Possibly. There's a lot of speculation there, a lot of stuff pulled from real stories, and a lot pulled from theories both mine and others.  
> 5) When will you update next? Not for a few weeks probably. I want to switch between this and ATS for every other update.   
> 6) Comments? Yes, I love them :D


	26. The Godswood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Sansa share. Rickon makes Jon consider things. Dany and Jon wed.
> 
> So, yes! I have worked out how many chapters are left. Not very many. We are coming to the end! I'm really excited to get the rest out but again, will be alternating between updates of this and my other fic so must be patient! 
> 
> As always, feedback is incredibly appreciated.

_ A/N: Starting with Arya’s POV because we haven’t really caught up with her at all. _

 

Arya

She had been avoiding him since landing at Eastwatch. Gendry, like the rest of those who had stayed behind at The Wall, rushed out to the beach at the first sign of ships and skiffs on the water before the castle. She knew him instantly. His hair was much shorter. His face harsher, as hers was. But she would have recognized those blue eyes anywhere.  _ Damn him. _ She couldn't exactly say why it upset her so much to see him. He had immediately rushed to her side but when she frowned and pulled away from his arms, he had looked on confused and maybe hurt. They hadn’t spoken at all since Eastwatch.

Now at Winterfell, confined to the close quarters of the keep, it was so difficult to avoid him. Gendry had got the hint that first day on the beach at Eastwatch that Arya wanted nothing to do with him. While a small part of her heart had been elated to see him alive and that the red witch hadn’t sacrificed him for Stannis, she couldn’t handle seeing him. It was too much. It was a lifetime ago. She was a different person then and she was sure Gendry was too. They would have nothing in common anymore, not that they ever really did anyway. And...another thing Arya didn’t want to think about but it was a stupid thought that kept invading when she least wanted it too...what if Gendry had had someone else? He had no reason not to. He was young, he was handsome and strong. He was kind. It wouldn’t have been that difficult for him to find himself a woman or several. After all, Arya had had a few lovers since leaving Braavos. The first out of curiosity and some strange morbid desire to just get the deed done and over with so she wouldn’t be a maiden anymore. The next two because it suited her and she had, on those occasions, felt rather lonely. 

But it seemed every time she passed him, her heart would flutter making her feel like a stupid girl as Sansa was back before they first left Winterfell. A stupid girl ogling a stupid boy when he wasn’t looking, noticing how his muscles bulged in his shirts.  _ Ugh! _ And they were at war! She couldn’t afford feelings at the moment, save feelings for her family. They were the only ones she needed to spare extra concern over. Bran and Rickon, Sansa and Jon, Daenerys and her little niece or nephew. She couldn’t get involved in any kind of romantic or sexual entanglements with anyone. It would be selfish and reckless and ill advised and...well, that was, until she caught Podrick sneaking out of Sansa’s chambers very early one morning as she headed down to the yard to train.

At first, Arya couldn’t believe her eyes and she immediately started to think of a number of scenarios as to why Podrick would be in Sansa’s chambers so early. However, his hunched form, buckling on his sword belt, the rosiness of his cheeks as he had closed the door quietly, the only conclusion Arya could come up with was,  _ They’re fucking! _

When she was sure Pod was well out of earshot, Arya crept to the door and slowly opened it to find Sansa in bed, back to her. “Pod, Brienne will start to worry if you don’t get to the yard to train soon. We don’t have time to go aga--ARYA!” Sansa screeched, turning over to find her sister at her bedroom door rather than her obviously lover. Arya smirked as she closed the door behind her. “What in Seven Hells do you think you’re doing?” Sansa demanded, pulling the furs of her bed up to her chin.

“I could ask you the same question,” Arya shot back, grin spread wide across her face, pulling out the chair at Sansa’s desk and taking a seat.  

“Get out, I didn’t invite you in here!” Sansa exclaimed, still apparently affronted that her younger sister had found out about her secret trysts with the young squire. 

“When did you and Podrick start fucking?” Arya asked lightly, pretending to pick under her nails. 

“We’re not…that’s not…it’s none of your business,” Sansa finished lamely crossing her arms over her chest, blankets still bunched up there. 

“Was it recently, while I was gone with the Golden Company?” Arya pressed, not at all put off by Sansa’s standoffish attitude. “Or was it before then. The Riverlands maybe? Though our rooms at Riverrun had been right next to each other and I don’t remember hearing you--”

“ARYA!” Arya burst out laughing at the silliness of the situation. She didn’t care that her sister had taken on a lover. She may even have been a little impressed that Sansa had done something so unladylike. Yes, in fact she was impressed. And proud of Sansa. Before they left for King’s Landing, Sansa had been a silly maiden who wanted nothing more than to marry vile Prince Joffrey and give him sons with golden blonde hair. Then all of those horrible things had happened to her. Becoming Joffrey’s little play thing to torture when he was bored. Thinking she had found safety with Aunt Lysa in the Vale only to discover their aunt was an absolute lunatic. And of course, there was Ramsay. One night back at Riverrun after several cups of wine together, Sansa had quietly told Arya every single detail of what the Bolton bastard had done to her during their  _ marriage _ . Arya hadn’t wanted to hear any of it; it was all so horrible. But Sansa was her sister and that night she had needed to talk about it. Needed to tell someone the things that had been done to her. So Arya held her hand and listened. 

Collecting herself, Arya reached forward and took a reluctant Sansa’s hand now, giving her a warm smile. “I’m happy for you,” she told Sansa, her voice rather gravelly than normal. 

“You…you are?” Sansa got out, clearly confused.

“Very. Podrick is sweet. He’s been there for you since Lord Tyrion returned to King’s Landing and then became Lady Brienne’s squire. I don’t know what you intend with him but I’ll tell you, it doesn’t matter. As long as he treats you well and respects you and it makes you happy, I’m glad.” Sansa’s eyes welled with tears as Arya spoke. Aside from their talk at Riverrun, it was one of the few true sisterly moments they had ever shared.

“Thank you Arya,” Sansa said quietly. “I don’t know what I intend with him either. But he makes me laugh.”

“Really?” Arya asked surprised. “He hardly ever talks. I didn’t know he had a sense of humor.”

“I think he got all his jokes from Tyrion,” Sansa admitted with a giggle. But when her eyes found Arya’s again, her expression turned serious. “Are you going to continue ignoring Gendry until the Others come for us all or are you ever actually going to tell him you missed him?” Sansa asked.  _ Damn her. _ Arya didn’t want to talk to Gendry. She didn’t want to  _ think  _ about Gendry. But at the same time, she did. It was all so confusing. And she still wasn’t quite sure why she hadn’t yet gone to him to have a proper reunion. 

“I just…I’m not the same person I was when I traveled with him,” Arya began slowly, Sansa listening intently. “And I’m sure he’s not either. Wh-what if, after all I’ve done, what if he doesn’t like the person he sees?” she asked her sister quietly.

“Then he’s an idiot.” 

Arya smiled. Well, if they were all going to die anyway… 

 

She watched him leave the great hall after dinner, her heart racing. Of course she didn’t want to speak to him in front of everyone. That would be even more embarrassing than it was already bound to be. But she knew where his quarters were. Out in the main barracks, near the forge. So when he had been gone from dinner a sufficient amount of time, Arya got up discreetly and followed in his general direction.

As she walked down a hallway, his chamber door came into view and she could see from the bottom of the door, a fire was blazing inside so he must have been in there. To knock? To try the handle? To run back down the hallway as quietly as possible and lock herself in her chamber and pluck her eyes out so she never had to see him again? 

Her hand raised against the door without her permission and tapped firmly three times. Arya’s heart pounded,  _ what to say? _ Would he be pleased she had come to speak to him? Would he be mad at her for ignoring him all these weeks? Or worst most of all, would he not care? 

All too soon the door swung open and Arya’s mouth did as well.  _ DAMN HIM! Why, why, why did he have to answer the door without a shirt on? _

“Arya,” Gendry breathed looking her up and down. He stood aside and she entered the room, him closing the door behind her. His mouth moved up and down as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite think of anything to say. Was there anything to say?

No.

In fact.

There wasn’t.

Luckily Gendry’s room was small, his bed right behind him so Arya pushed him back onto it, Gendry’s expression somewhere between confused and pleasantly surprised. Arya wasted no time in climbing up on the bed after him and straddling his narrow hips, hands holding his own down. “Yeah?” was all she could muster.

“Mmhmm,” Gendry nodded. And that was that.   

 

Jon

Jon watched as Rickon picked himself up from the ground again, his face livid, Arya’s neutral, perhaps a little sad. He knew Rickon had been to visit Bran earlier that morning and based on Rickon’s relative silence since emerging from Bran’s room, their talk hadn’t gone well. Jon understood. Rickon was closest to Bran than anyone, staying behind at Winterfell with him when they all left for King’s Landing and The Wall. He had even accompanied Bran when they left Winterfell until they reached Last Hearth. Ever since Bran’s fall, Rickon always thought it was his duty to protect Bran. But as Jon was becoming all to aware of, Bran wasn’t Bran anymore.

“Mind if I cut in?” Jon asked Arya and she nodded and took off toward the forge, though Jon had no idea why. Rickon lunged and Jon scooped up the sparring sword to hurriedly block the hit. They sparred for several minutes, Jon almost surprised at Rickon’s superior skills but then he remembered, before the Umber’s sold Rickon to Ramsay, they had housed him as a guest and he had trained with their master at arms. 

But when Rickon fell for the last time, he did not get back up, instead tossing his sword aside and wrapping his arms around his knees, a frustrated huff that bordered on a sob escaping him. Jon dropped his sparring sword as well and knelt next to Rickon, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about Bran?” Jon asked him gently. 

“No,” Rickon told him quietly. 

“Well then, let’s  _ not _ talk and go for a walk in the godswood hmm? Bran isn’t there,” he added for good measure. Rickon let out another frustrated huff, though his face was dry, and Jon gave him a hand to help him to his feet. They made their way silently to the godswood, then sat beneath the heart tree, Rickon grabbing a stick and swirling it around in the snow. 

“It’s hard on Meera too,” Rickon began as if continuing a conversation he and Jon had been having the whole time. He went on, voice gravelly. “I think she was in love with him. It was just them, for years. Her and Bran, Hodor and Brynden Rivers. Her brother Jojen died getting Bran to the Three-Eyed-Raven. Then Summer died. And Hodor. Osha died protecting me.” Jon hadn’t met Osha or Jojen but he knew of their sacrifices. Still, he knew it best to let Rickon get out all he was thinking and feeling. “They all died for him. And Bran doesn’t even care.”

“He’s not Bran anymore,” Jon told Rickon quietly, having a difficult time accepting it himself but knowing it was best. “Our Bran died along with the rest of them. But the one who’s left, we still need him. We still need to love and protect him. Even if he can’t feel it or understand it anymore.”

“Are we cursed Jon?” Rickon asked Jon, finally looking up to meet his gaze. “The Starks, are we cursed? Both my parents are dead. Robb. What happened to Bran. And…your mother.” 

Jon was about to give him some noncommittal answer, wondering the same thing himself, when he remembered something Bran, the new Bran, had said to him in passing recently. It was a simple comment. He had said it one night when Ghost had been out in the godswood, howling at the full moon.  _ “‘The wolves will come again,’” _ Jon repeated Bran’s words. Rickon furrowed his brow, not understanding. “We’re not cursed, Rick. The wolves will come again.” Rickon nodded, still unsure of Jon’s words but Jon noted he looked more hopeful than he had when he found him in the training yard with Arya earlier. 

“Speaking of wolves,” Rickon began, changing topic. “Have you decided on what you’re going to call yourself. For the wedding but, when you and Daenerys are crowned as well.” Jon sighed. He hated this topic. Everyone wanted to know what he would choose as his regnal name and his list of titles. Daenerys already had hers. Jon had joked once when she’d asked him the same question that she had enough names for the both of them. 

“Can’t I just be Jon?” Jon asked Rickon who gave him a sad smile. 

“I’m going to say something and at first you are probably not going to like it. But I want you to listen anyway.” Jon sighed again and nodded for Rickon to continue. “I know you’re Jon. It’s  _ your _ name. The name father gave you. But…your mother gave you a name too. Don’t you think it would be disrespectful to her memory if you didn’t acknowledge it?”

Jon closed his eyes against the lump that formed in his throat at Rickon’s words. He hadn’t thought about it like that and it made the whole thing that much harder. Aegon was a name he thought he could easily brush off. He didn’t look like a Targaryen. He didn’t sound like a Targaryen. He was a northman through and through. But Rickon was right. His Northerner mother had given him that name. And from the moment Jon had deduced that Lyanna was his mother, he knew he loved her greatly. He had always loved his mother, even if hadn’t known her name.

 

Jon’s heart hammered as he stood waiting for Dany beneath the weirwood tree in the godswood. Though he had asked Rickon to do it, Ser Davos was the one who would be conducting the wedding ceremony, as Rickon had said he merely wanted to watch, so as not to miss a thing. Missandei would be escorting Daenerys in but there was no sign of them yet. He had made his decision the night before but hadn’t shared it with Dany yet. He wanted it to be a surprise and he prayed to all the gods, even the ones that didn’t exist, that she would be pleased with what he had decided.

Just as Jon turned to Arya who was standing behind him holding the cloak he would drape about Dany’s shoulders, and quirked up an eyebrow, they heard footsteps. Jon quickly turned around again and there she was. His mouth popped open and all the air rushed from his lungs.

Dany walked toward him and it was as if some natural light surrounded her and clung to her skin. She was the most radiant he had ever seen her, he almost couldn’t believe she was real. Her dress was a snow white velvet, long sleeves with lace trim, the bodice had an embroidered band that wrapped under her breasts, showing the contrast in size with her belly. Her cloak a Targaryen red with the three headed dragon sigil of their house on the back - it was a color scheme Sansa had created, the reasoning being Jon would cloak her again in Targaryen colors so she should wear the inverse as she approached. Her hair was down too, as it almost never was aside from when they bathed. It glimmered with little crystal pins woven amongst the silver waves, looking like stars twinkling in the moonlight. How she could be so beautiful and how Jon could be so lucky she was his, he had absolutely no idea.

 

Jon was so overwhelmed by her beauty that without thinking, once she had reached him and placed her hands in his, he couldn’t help but lean in and brush her lips with his, inhaling her sweet scent. “That’s for after,” Arya loudly whispered and everyone in the godswood chuckled. 

Davos raised an eyebrow and Jon nodded for him to begin the ceremony.  “Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” he asked. Jon’s heart thudded quickly.

“Her Grace,  Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen , comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble,” Missandei said confidently but kindly. It wasn’t at all her usual tone when announcing Dany in court. “She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?” Daenerys eyebrows rose infinitesimally. He knew she wanted to know  _ who _ was claiming her in marriage as well. Jon cleared his throat and took in a deep, calming breath.

“Jon… _ Aegon _ Snow, of Houses Stark and Targaryen, trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lady Lyanna Stark…adopted son of Lord Eddard Stark.” Dany’s eyes immediately welled with tears, her expression full of love. Jon squeezed her hands. “Who gives her?” Missandei dabbed the corner of her eyes as well before she spoke. 

“Missandei, of the Island of Naath, who is her advisor and dear friend.” Daenerys nodded and leaned in as Missandei kissed her on the cheek and then Jon before stepping back to stand between Grey Worm and Tyrion.

“Queen Daenerys, do you take this man?” Davos asked. Jon raised an eyebrow in question and Dany stifled a laugh. 

“I take this man.” 

“Good,” Jon whispered making Dany giggle again as they kneeled before the tree. Jon wasn’t at all sure if their prayers would be heard or who was there to hear them. There was no  _ seven, _ there was no  _ drowned god, _ there was no  _ great stallion  _ or _ great shepherd. _ But there had to be something, someone up there who was responsible for all of this chaos. For all of this wonder. Jon thought back to something Sandor Clegane had told him after he’d woken up in Winterfell. They had been taking with Beric Dondarrion and Dondarrion of course was going on and on about the Lord of Light as he had apparently brought both him and Jon back from death. But Sandor repeated words an old septon friend had told him once a few years back, before he began traveling with the Brotherhood.  _ Maybe it’s the old gods, maybe it’s the seven, maybe it’s the lord of light. Or maybe they’re all the same fucking thing. What matters, is that there’s something greater than us. _ Dondarrion’s mouth had popped open, not quite able to believe what Clegane said. But Jon felt the truth of his words, even if he didn’t immediately recognize it. There were the Others with their ice and their cold and their death and darkness. So the opposite had to be true, right? Perhaps it was R’hllor. Perhaps he was called something different. But there was a greater force at work. The force who had sent the dragons to Dany, and the wolves to Jon and the Starks. Who had chosen Bran as the Three-Eyed-Raven. And had brought Jon back from the dark nothingness that followed life. Their prayers had to be heard. By someone. 

Jon finished his thoughts and wishes and he and Dany stood. Jon removed her black on red Targaryen cloak to replace it with a red on black one. Though ever the clever stitcher, Sansa had embroidered the Stark direwolf overtop of the Targaryen three-headed dragon, not dominating the dragon, but woven into it, making the two as one. “Now you’re part wolf too,” Jon whispered and Dany’s eyes grew wide a moment but the expression was soon replaced by one of contentment and wonder as Jon took her lips chastely with his. 

 

The feast following the ceremony was short and limited as they were saving all their supplies for the fight to come and couldn’t spare a morsel for such a thing as a wedding. But the company was pleasant and Jon couldn’t take his eyes off Dany long enough to care about the plate in front of him. When it became too much and some drunken lord had shouted “The bedding!” Dany looked to Jon questioningly. 

“What’s a  _ bedding?”  _ she asked curiously.

Jon sighed and rolled his eyes, wishing he could find the man who had said that and ring his neck so the rest of the hall wouldn’t be rumbling with a similar sentiment. “The other lords and ladies take the wedded couple to their chambers and derobe them, to prepare them for consummating their marriage.”

“Do they watch?” Dany asked and Jon nearly spat out his ale. 

“Gods no!”

“Oh, well, the Dothraki wouldn’t be shocked by such a thing,” she shrugged.

“Do you  _ want _ to have the bedding ceremony?” Jon looked at her worriedly. Dany smirked. 

“I think we’re fine without it.” She leaned in and kissed him before he could say anything further. But when more shouts of  _ the bedding! The bedding! _ called across the room, Jon knew he had to address the issue. He pulled Dany up to stand next to him and raised a hand for the hall to be silent. 

“My lords and ladies, the Queen and I thank you for honoring us with your presence on this special day. We all know what lies beyond The Wall and what we are all up against. So moments like this, where we can appreciate life, love, happiness, and be reminded what we are all fighting  _ for, _ are cherished ones indeed.” The ladies about the hall sighed at Jon’s words and he caught Dany roll her eyes. “Now I’ve heard a few of you calling for the bedding ceremony,” Jon paused and several around the room whooped and cheered, “however, as you can see, the Queen and I have already taken care of that little task.” He placed his hand on her belly and the entire hall erupted with laughter. “And as the Queen is in delicate condition, I don’t want to cause her any undo stress, nor our child. So while I know it is unfortunate to forego tradition, we will not be participating in the bedding ceremony.” Several around the room breathed sighs of disappointment, likely men and women who wouldn’t have minded glimpses of Jon or Daenerys naked. “ But the Queen and I bid you all continue enjoying tonight’s rations and the fine music and company from all corners of our world.”

“While we are all different, come from different backgrounds, places of birth, speak different languages,” Daenerys went on, “This war we are facing shows us that we are all  _ stronger together _ than we are apart. And we thank you all for recognizing that and embracing one another as allies. Goodnight.” Jon smiled at her proudly and as the music picked up again, they made their way to their bedchamber giggling. 

“I didn’t know you could be so eloquent,  _ husband,” _ Daenerys cooed.

“I might not  _ like _ making grand speeches but it doesn’t mean I’m unable to,  _ wife,” _ he said nuzzling her ear. “Now about the bedding…” 

As soon as Jon had shut the door, he and Dany were ripping at each other, hands furiously working to undo buckles and straps, ties and buttons, mouths groaning and sucking at each other, desperate for the contact. It had only been a few hours as they had quickly coupled that morning (as they did most mornings) but this was different. They were now  _ husband and wife. _ It was an entirely new feeling. 

Jon backed Dany up against the bed and trailed hot wet kisses up and down her neck, his cock pressed between them, impatient. “You are so adorable with this,” Jon couldn’t help but comment, hand running down Dany’s naked belly. “It makes me want you even mo--oh shit,” he half chuckled and Daenerys threw her head back laughing at the soft kick to her stomach. Jon pursed his lips, somewhere between amused and exasperated. “She’s awake,” he whispered unnecessarily. Dany continued giggling, placing both hands on her belly now. “Should…I mean, is it odd…should we wait?” 

“He’s not usually awake at this time. He should quiet back down. Gilly said sometimes it even rocks them to sleep.” Jon let out a hoot of laughter at this, his head light from wine and ale, eating little that day, the stress of the war, the delight of marrying Daenerys, and of course, all the blood still rushing toward his cock. 

They both tumbled onto the bed with a bounce and Jon immediately pulled Dany on top of him, her heat sliding against his erection, making him slick.  _ “I love you,” _ he breathed, hands grasping her behind firmly as she reached down to position herself over him.  _ “I love you too,” _ Dany murmured, taking all of him in one smooth movement. 

Dany began rolling her hips and Jon sat up to kiss her, having to bend over her belly to do so as it had gotten so big already. But he loved that though.  Dany let out little gasps and pants as he tweaked her nipples then bent lower to suck them. Her breasts were glorious now, so round and full. He was almost jealous he’d soon have to share them with their child but that wasn’t for another four or five months yet so he just enjoyed them while he could. 

When Daenerys grew tired - she often did as she wasn’t used to the extra weight she was carrying - Jon flipped her over on her hands and knees. “This okay love?” he asked her, always careful to respect her boundaries and wishes. 

“Oh please Jon,” she begged and he wasted no time in burying himself in her, fingers digging into her hips. He leaned in and swept the hair off her neck so he could kiss and bite it as he pushed into her over and over again. But all too soon the excitement of the day and of their now married lovemaking was getting to him and he knew he had to act quickly. Reaching a hand between Dany’s legs he rubbed at her furiously, those light, fast circles over her nub that she loved so much. Within moments she was calling out his name, back arching then shoulders falling into the bed at her release and Jon followed shortly after, sated, content, and in love.

 

It was barely light outside when they were awoken by an angry knock on the door, Jon and Daenerys shooting up in bed, Dany clutching the furs to her chest as the knocker didn’t even bother to wait for their reply but burst through the door.  _ Tyrion and Davos. _

“Davos, what in seven hells do you think--”

“It’s Bran,” Tyrion spat out quickly, huffing as if he had run there from wherever he had been. Jon’s skin pricked with sweat and the hairs on his arms and neck stood on end. 

“He was in the godswood since early this morning,” Davos went on explaining also breathing hard.

“He was warging the ravens,” Tyrion continued.

“What happened?” Jon blurted, unable to take their delays. 

“The Night King. He’s got a dragon.  _ Your dragon.” _ Davos pointed at Dany who inhaled sharply. 

“He’s raised him as a wight. He’s used him to burn down part of The Wall at Eastwatch. Every man who was left there is dead.”

“They march,” Tyrion continued. “They’re marching toward us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q&A (kinda)
> 
> 1) Did Arya and Gendry have sex? YES. And I know for some it may have seemed strange I mention Arya has had past lovers but I liked the idea of her not being a virgin when she gets with Gendry. For me, it just didn't seem right for her character. Book canon she's obviously too young for such things but not show canon. And I'd even argue we could make it head canon Arya slept with one of those cute Lannister soldiers (my guess is the one who made the blackberry wine). But anyway, yeah Arya just never struck me as the type who would put much importance on being a "maid" and would be comfortable having sex outside marriage. 
> 
> 2) Sansa and Pod still banging? Heck yes. Sansa's story is going to get pretty interesting here soon. Won't say no more!
> 
> 3) Rickon and Jon! Honestly, we were robbed in show canon. I wanted these two to have a moment while things are still relatively calm. Rickon on the show was always adorable and his wanting to protect Bran and stay by his side was something I always loved. So it made sense to me he is a bit traumatized by Bran's behavior.
> 
> 4) Jon and Dany both calling the baby boy/girl? Well, neither of them know for sure. Jon believes it's a girl. Dany thinks it's a boy. You all will have to wait and see! BTW full disclosure, I'm so flipping excited about the baby and the name for the baby I almost want to tell you guys all right now, but I won't.
> 
> 5) The Wall come down! Yep. Shit's about to get real. 
> 
> Buckle up!
> 
> Again, comments appreciated!


End file.
